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THE CONQUEST 

And Other Poems 

By 

RICHARD OSBORNE 




BOSTON 

The Gorham Press 

1914 



Copyright 191k, by Richard Osborne 
All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

JAN -2 1915 

©CLA39302? 



TO MY DEAR WIFE 

ADA ISABELLA 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED 

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN 

OF THE LOVE AND ADMIRATION 

OF THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Conquest 11 

Across the Centuries 116 

Hope 120 

The Islands of the Blest 121 

Simplicity 124 

Hymn to Philosophy 125 

Religio Poetae 127 

The Lament of Columbus 136 

The Legend of the Palm 141 

Inspiration 145 

Phaeton 145 

Shakespeare's Sonnets 148 

The Flower of Thought 148 

Falling Leaves 149 

A Message from the Night 150 

Interrupted 150 

Harmony 151 

The Summons 151 

Those Gentle Feet 152 

Song 152 

The First Day 153 

The English Language 154 

Songs That Never Cease 154 

The Indomitable Soul 155 

Natural Eloquence 156 

A Fair Estate 156 

The World's Way 158 

The Cloudy Portal 158 

The Ruin 159 

The Good Physician 160 

The God's Reward 160 

Chaucer 161 

The Lover of Self 161 

Uplifted 162 

Literature 162 

Carpe Diem 163 

Solitude 163 

The Choice 164 



CONTENTS 

Rest... 165 

Indomitable 166 

The Happy Bird 166 

Dirge 167 

The Contrast 167 

Good and Evil 168 

Untrammelled 168 

A Passing Sigh 169 

Panoplied 169 

The Higher Life 170 

April 170 

St. George's Day 171 

The Man of Thought 171 

Dreamlight 172 

The Hidden Land 173 

Gathering Thoughts 173 

Duty Fulfilled 174 

Faith 174 

Outland and Dreamland 175 

When Morning Breaks 177 

Detraction of the Great 177 

Books 178 

Seeing, They See Not 178 

Violets 179 

Song. 180 

Sunrise 181 

The Burden of Thought 181 

In Hours of Darkness 182 

Aspiration 182 

Song: Hope's Return 186 

A Song of Afternoon 186 

Daffodils 188 

The Spirit of Song 189 

The Searchlight 191 

The Sense of Humor 191 

Fray Juan Garin 192 

The Great Man 194 

The Sleeping Beauty 195 

Unutterable 196 



CONTENTS 

The Timely Lay Sonnets 

The Timely Lay. 199 

Disappointment 199 

The Gates of Dreamland 200 

Three Pictures 200 

Appreciation 201 

A Mountain Song 201 

Spiritual Promptings 202 

Eternal Harmony 202 

Poetic Insight 203 

The Mind's Sovereignty 203 

The Bagpipes 204 

Verbal Purity 204 

Sing, Bird of Promise 205 

Mother Nature 205 

The Hospitable Mind 206 

Pygmalion 206 

An Ampler Age 207 

The Smile of Time 207 

The Woodlands 208 

The Inward, Grace 208 

My Lady Hope 209 

Buoyant 209 

The Maiden 210 

The Two Dreams 210 

Disembodied 211 

Sunshine and Shadow 211 

Good Angels 212 

The Ear of Solitude 212 

Cheerfulness 213 

Revere the Muse 213 

The Cavern 214 

Beware 214 

Regret 215 

How Life Shall Smile 215 

The Briton 216 

The Brotherhood of Man 216 

Serene Old Age 217 

Death 217 



CONTENTS 

The Golden Mean 218 

The Sphere Beyond 218 

The Simple Life 219 

On the Surface 219 

Glimpses of Truth 220 

The Good Man's Heart 220 

The March of Progress 221 

Cumbrous Pomp 221 

The Love of Fame 222 

Pettiness 222 

The Steep Ascent 223 

Light Seekers 223 

Imagination 224 

In Tune 224 

Contemplation 225 

Memories of Youth 225 

The Tyranny of Things 226 

Mens Sibi Conscia Recti 226 

Summer 227 

The Great Unknown 227 

A Query 228 

Restraint . 228 

Shakespeare's Tomb 229 

Dissension 229 

Orbis Terrarum Innocens 230 

Napoleon 230 

Pax Universa 231 

The Bright Side 231 

Confidence 232 

Our Mother Tongue 232 

Providence 233 

Ebb and Flow 233 

Beside the Dead 234 

What It Is Worth 234 

The March to Truth 235 

A Rainy Day 235 

Don Quixote 236 

The Larger Child 236 

Discontent 237 



CONTENTS 

Not in Vain 237 

The Voice Serene 238 

Development 238 

The Chain of Purpose 239 

The Heights 239 

Tiresome Joys 240 

The Leaves of June 240 

The Busy Bee 241 

The First Sleep 241 

A Magic Hour 242 

Looking Backwards 242 

The New Born Age 243 

Great Thoughts and Deeds 243 

Founts Unfailing 244 

Unobtrusive Things 244 

When Summer Dies . 245 

Hamlet 245 

When Ruin Falls 246 

A Joyless Age 246 

Sorrow and Silence 247 

Compassion 247 

Mental Holiday 248 

The Brave 248 

High Thoughts and Holy 249 

The Nerveless Soul 249 

The Larger Love 250 

The Key to Solitude 250 

Hand in Hand 251 

Assured 251 

The Cheerful Soul 252 

The Guides 252 

Morning 253 

The Chrysalis 253 

Simple Joys 254 

The Universal Man 254 

"What a Man Can" 255 

The Poets 255 

Two Friends 256 

A Consoling Thought 256 



CONTENTS 

The Heedless Life 257 

The Earthen Bowl 257 

Genius. 258 

A Gracious Lady 258 

Woman 259 

The Path of Flowers 259 

Peerless 260 

At Last 260 

Onward 261 

Prometheus 261 

The Optimist 262 

Just Beyond 262 

TheSummer Wind 263 

Nature's School 263 

Another World 264 

Introspection 264 

April 265 

The Songs of Life 265 

The Outer Deep 266 

The Eye of Thought 266 

Consolation 267 

To 267 

The Sylvan Lake 268 

Lamentation 268 

Absent Friends 269 

The Listener 269 

The Aviator 270 

Sunset 270 

Human Wisdom 271 



THE CONQUEST 

CANTO I 



O Muse ! who dwellest in the Faraway, 
Yet deignest oft the mortal to inspire 
Who sings the glories of the passing day, 
Or seeks the wonders that from sight retire, 
Inform my soul while now I touch the lyre, 
And let my song be ever pure and true; 
Fill thou my hear^with that exalted fire, 
Which can alone from heaven its heat renew, 
And wreathe the chords with light as I my theme 
pursue. 



I sing the Conquest, and the Chief who came 
From Norman shores the Saxon to o'erthrow; 
His deeds are worthy of the trump that Fame 
Holds in her hand for her strong sons to blow. 
How grand he wrought not even he could know; 
The conquer 'd land remained unconquer'd yet, 
On nations long undream'd of to bestow 
An empire crowned with freedom's coronet, 
On which the sovereign sun should rise but never 
set! 

iii 

Yet not alone his deeds invite the Muse, 
A deeper thought his mission underlay, 
He hew'd a path for future times to use 
Into the gloom that hid a larger day. 
Fierce was his onset, savage was his sway, 
But as in darkness God created light, 
So shadow after shadow melts away, 
As men in counsel and in act unite 
To plant o'er dying Wrong the standard of the 
Right. 

11 



IV 

King Harold sate among his councillors, 
His blue eye shaded with his hand, and while 
They argued polities or spake of wars, 
He seemed to listen with abstracted smile. 
Far other thoughts his fancy came to wile, 
He saw himself a monarch crowned at last, 
And ere the cares of kingship could defile 
The royal bliss, he had a mind to taste 
The sweetness of the cup ere time the vintage 
waste. 



Yet not with idle gleemen did he think 
The hours to spend, nor in the arms of love; 
His is no soul with wassailers to drink, 
Anointed king his aims are far above. 
No wish for ease could long his spirit move 
To lie engulph'd in sensual delight; 
His dearest aim was how the best to prove 
A father to his people, and a might 
Or in the bowers of peace, or stormy waves of 
fight. 

vi 

So muses he what England has to fear; 
And as he sits, dream-circled, mid his lords, 
With keener senses gifted, seems to hear 
The tread of armies and the clash of swords! 
For fifty years the joy that peace affords 
Had smiled a gracious summer on the land; 
Wide waved the corn, and rich the swelling hoards 
Of public wealth, but somewhat lost command 
Of squadrons in the field, of battle-axe and brand. 

vii 

Long time he ponder 'd silent; still he kept 
His anxious bodings to himself, and though 
Within his heart a thousand echoes leapt 

n 



Of wild confusion and strange overthrow, 
No sign he made: but soon, uprising slow, 
His unsuspecting councillors addrest 
In cheerful tone, so that they can not know 
What sad surmisings fill the monarch's breast; 
His brightest thoughts they share, all else is 
unexprest. 

viii 

Scarce had he ceased, when to the council-door 
There came a hurried messenger, who said, 
"O Harold, King of England, to thy shore 
"Thy brother Tostig has an army led. 
"Earl Morkar has the foe discomfited, 
"And driven into Scotland; but I hear 
"Throughout the North that, sailing to his aid, 
" Comes Norway's monarch, and will soon appear 
"With all his foemen fierce to join the fight 
severe. " 

ix 

King Harold answer 'd, "To the good Earl say, 
"That Harold will be with him at his need, 
"And Norway's king shall rue the luckless day 
"That saw him land. Now use thy swiftest 

speed!" 
Forthwith the envoy, mounted on his steed, 
Tow'rd the far North with tireless gallop flew, 
To where the Humber through the smiling mead 
Runs to the sea, and mingles with the blue; 
While Harold deem'd at last his dream of trouble 

true! 



Nor vain: for thus another messenger, 
"William, the Duke of Normandy, reminds 
"Thee of the oath which thou to him didst swear 
"On good and holy relics!" Little finds 
King Harold now but rough and howling winds 
13 



That threaten his new throne : far easier lot 
His meanest subject's, or that subject's hind's; 
But, bold to face what destiny has brought, 
Thus answers Godwin's son the taunt his ear has 
caught. 

xi 

"'Tis true," he said, "that such an oath I swore, 

"But by compulsion: what I promised was 

"Not mine to give; my royalty is more 

"My people's than my own, and for this cause 

"I can not now resign it. By our laws 

"Without consent no foreign wife I take. 

"The Duke would have some chief of his make 

choice 
"Of my poor sister? Would he have me break 
"Into the tomb, and send her body for his sake?" 

xii 

Then forth went Harold and his men to meet 
Harald Hardrada and his Norsemen bold, 
But tide or tempest had delayed his fleet, 
He came not, but his purpose grew not cold. 
For he was one whom Carnage had enroll 'd 
Her favourite son: he lived upon the deep, 
And loved the clash of weapons more than gold; 
And in the very visions of his sleep 
From scenes of blood alone his thought could 
pleasure reap. 

xiii 

The Duke, though angry, check'd the gath'ring 

storm, 
And sent another envoy, to demand, 
"At least a portion of thine oath perform, 
"Let Harold come and take my daughter's hand. " 
This Harold hearing, bade his charger stand, 
And turning to the messenger replied, 
"Go tell thy master that on English land 
14 



"Harold is King, and will not be defied; 
"And that, ere wane the moon, he weds a Saxon 
bride!" 

xiv 

Deep fury mutter'd in the Norman's breast 
At this reply : with solemn oath he swore 
That, by God's splendour, he would never rest 
Till Harold should his perjury deplore; 
That ere a year his foot on Albion's shore 
Should firmly stand, and fleeing like a bird 
The Saxon monarch find a home no more. 
With lifted hand, and stern revengeful word, 
Thus sware the Norman duke, and all his vassals 
heard. 

xv 

From Norway's rocky coasts, and those same isles 

Whence Hengist first led forth his followers, 

The stormy sea-kings came: to them the smiles 

Of Peace were vain, for they were worshippers 

Of Odin, and were cradled in the wars. 

Their breath was battle's tumult, and they died 

In hope that, hanging their red scimitars 

In old Valhalla's hall, on every side 

In sensual delight they ever should abide. 

xvi 

And "Go, my son," each ancient warrior cried, 
"With ships and swords reap riches and renown!" 
War was their glory, rapine was their pride, 
And danger paid with plunder was their crown. 
In bays and creeks, beneath the shadowy frown 
Of cliff and headland they themselves conceal'd, 
Till pass'd their prey; then shouting, rush'd 

they down 
Like hungry vultures to the watery field, 
With wounds for them that fight, and death for 

them that yield. 

15 



XV11 

They called the storm their servant, and they said 
Where'er it drove them "here we wished to be," 
And when their ships before the tempest fled, 
They thought the winds blew fiercely but to free 
Their weary arms from rowing through the sea. 
The drown'd went safe to Odin, those who lived 
At danger laugh'd with unaffected glee; 
Death came, and as unheeded he arrived, 
So he unheeded went by all that still surviv'd. 

xviii 

Yet in the bold Norwegian's camp were some 
Saw fearful signs, and dream'd prophetic dreams. 
Before the English army one saw come 
A giant woman on a wolf, which seems 
To hold a body in his jaws, whence streams 
The ruddy gore, all dripping to the ground; 
With the warm blood the horrid charger steams, 
Craunches the crackling bones, and looks around, 
Then quick another corse to sate his maw is 
found. 

xix 

Another, ere they sailed, had seen a flock 
Of vultures, crows, and dismal birds of prey, 
Perch on the vessels' masts. Upon a rock, 
That shooting from the waters kiss'd the day, 
A haggard beldam, wrinkled, rude and gray, 
Sate with a drawn sword, her hungry eyes 
Counting the ships; and then he heard her say, 
"Go with them, birds obscene, before you lies 
"A bounteous meal; I, too, attend the sacrifice. " 

xx 

Little the sea-king heeded words like these, 
Too many battles had he fought and won, 
And boldly sailed too many stormy seas, 
To pause for dreams by silly sleepers spun : 
16 



Not his the heart to turn from task begun, 

Not his the eye to blench before the gleam 

Of visionary danger; where the sun 

Might rise or set was little care to him, 

So conquest spread his path with desolation grim. 

xxi 

Meantime to York came Harold, at the head 
Of all his chosen troops. Three days he march'd, 
And as the fourth day's sun was setting red, 
The ancient city with its gateways arch'd 
Gladden'd his sight. Long had its people search'd 
The far horizon for his welcome train, 
In hope to keep their honour all unsmirch'd; 
But vainly had they look'd, and hoped in vain, 
Till hope within their hearts no longer might 
remain. 

xxii 

Morn rose, and flashing sunlight on the walls, 
Swept slowly up to gain meridian day, 
On roof and spire the shining radiance falls, 
On helmet, warder's mace, and turret gray. 
Bright was the sky above, and glad the way 
O'er which the bold Norwegians tow'rd the town 
Went gleefully; for not of bloody fray 
But spoils they dream'd, and hoped all thought to 

drown 
In wassail loud; in brief, they count the day their 

own! 

xxiii 

Full of this hope, they left within the ships 
Their coats of mail, whose weight the heat'denied, 
And as they marched, from out their eager lips 
Rang many a song of triumph and of pride. 
To traitor's hand they look'd to open wide 
The gates of York to their advancing powers, 
And now in front the city they descried, 
17 



The sunlight flashing on her queenly towers — 
But lo! a cloud of dust right in their pathway 
lours. 

xxiv 

"What men are these, O Tostig?" cried the king, 
"Only" King Harold's brother made reply, 
"Some English suppliants. " But at once the ring 
And flash of arms his shameful words deny! 
No suppliants these, their aim is to defy; 
With warlike heel the echoing ground they tread, 
Each lance is firmly grasp 'd, each plume waves 

high, 
The royal standard to the wind is spread, 
And lo! the Saxons come, King Harold at their 

head. 

xxv 

But not in vain had Norway's king been nurst 
In arms and warlike feats in distant lands, 
Still ready, whatsoe'er surprise might burst 
Upon him, he could issue his commands 
As coolly calm as even now he stands. 
Yet his eye brighten'd, and his proud lip curl'd 
As swift in battle's line he wheel'd his bands, 
And smiled, self-balanced, as he saw unfurl'd 
His banner, which he called the Ravager of the 
world. 

xxvi 

A royal sight was Norway's king that day : 
A splendid helmet glitter 'd on his head, 
Glowing and flashing in the morning ray; 
In a blue tunic he was habited; 
His coal-black steed, for shock of battle bred, 
Moved like a tower beneath him, as he rode 
Along the embattled line. The men he led 
Knew well he was the kingly thing he shew'd, 
No knight for castle hall, or lady's soft abode. 
18 



XXV11 

The stout Norwegians in a half-moon stood, 
Its outer verge presented to the foe : 
Planted in earth, the foremost rank protrude 
Their slanting spears; behind, the second row 
Their weapons o'er their comrades' shoulders 

throw; 
A hedge of threat 'ning points, to hold in check 
The charging horse, and lay the riders low. 
These natives of the field and of the deck, 
To either work could turn at their bold leader's 

beck. 

xxviii 

King Harold stood, and watch'd the swift array: 
He heard the orders of the Northern Chief, 
Distinct and stern; he saw him make his way, 
From point to point, commanding clear and brief; 
While in the autumn air the wither 'd leaf, 
In widening circles floating round and round 
Fell earthward, emblem of our mortal grief. 
But as he looks he hears another sound — 
With clanging arms the Chief lies prostrate on 
the ground! 

xxix 

And yet so swiftly sprang he to his seat, 
That the eye doubted he had e'er been down ! 
A soul like his was strong enough to meet 
Far darker portents with a passing frown; 
No faint-heart he who wore the Northern crown; 
His steed had stumbled, but was he less gay? 
Not when the battle-trumpet had been blown, 
Not when his veins were throbbing for the fray, 
And Norsemen stood at hand to follow and obey ! 



But ere the battle joined, King Harold sent 
Full twenty mounted men from his array, 
19 



To ride unto the Norseman's armament, 
And summon Tostig to the front, and say : 
"Thy brother greets thee; offers thee today 
"Peace, friendship, and the honours that were 

thine." 
Not long expectant did the warriors stay. 
Their armour glancing in the morning's shine, 
Straight rode the Saxon out from Norway's 

serried line. 

xxxi 

"One year ago 'twas insult, scorn and wrong, 
"Far different now these friendly words ye bring; 
"If I accept them, what shall then belong 
"To him, my faithful ally, Norway's King?" 
This question did the fiery Saxon fling, 
And waited a reply. "Seven feet of ground," 
Quoth one stout warrior, boldly answering, 
Fierce Tostig heard, and glared indignant round, 
Smote with his heel his steed, which answer 'd with 
a bound. 

xxxii 

"Go, tell my brother to prepare for fight, 

"By Norway's side I either stand or fall." 

So turn'd from proffer'd peace the Saxon knight, 

Turn'd from the son of his own father's hall, 

From king and country; thus renouncing all 

Save the brave sea-king, his impetuous friend. 

Soon in the Saxon lines the trumpet-call 

With shouts and hoarse commands was heard to 

blend : 
Peace folds her slighted robe, and Battle's arms 

extend. 

xxxiii 

Now rush the Saxon horsemen on the foe, 
As drives the billow thundering on the rock; 
And even as the tide ebbs, to and fro, 
Now with a lesser, now a greater shock, 
20 



The foemen meet, and strike, and interlock. 
But Norway stands unshaken; bristling rise 
Her pointed spears, that seem defeat to mock; 
Saxon and Norseman each his prowess tries, 
And shouts and hollow groans re-echo to the 
skies. 

xxxiv 

Upon his coal-black steed sate Norway's king, 

Amid his trusty spearmen : now he views 

The Saxon horse recoiling from their spring, 

And swift no opportunity to lose, 

He waves his sword fresh ardour to infuse, 

And leads the fierce pursuit. Right on he bore, 

Still foremost in the battle or the cruise, 

Till through his neck an envious arrow tore, 

And smote him to the ground — to rise again no 



morel 



xxxv 



Fiercer the conflict rages : hand to hand 
The angry foemen try their sturdy might, 
And swift and sure the whirling battle-brand 
Deals wounds and death amid the sounding fight. 
Once more amid the battle's furious height 
King Harold offers to his brother peace, 
And for the Norsemen that he leads — in spite 
Of insult dire — full freedom and release: 
But Tostig turns aside, nor bids the carnage 
cease. 

xxxv 

In vain the Northern ships fresh levies pour, 
Troops armed from head to heel in shining mail, 
Faint with their rapid march, but ill they bore 
The Saxon charge, that smote them as a gale 
Dips in the flowing sea the towering sail. 
Now Tostig reels beneath a deadly blow, 
Their banner falls, and all foredone they hail 
21 



The Saxon's generous terms: then turning slow, 
Down-drooping, tow'rd the ships with staggering 
feet they go. 

xxxvii 

To York King Harold led his conquering host, 
As o'er the field of strife the sun went down; 
And if his warriors marched with many a boast, 
Yet Harold rode in silence, nor could drown 
In victory's light the shadow of the frown 
That fortune wore. Rode Cedric by his side, 
A venerable bard, with snowy crown, 
Whose beard of billowy white blew far and wide; 
Yet he the battle's toils and perils had defied. 

xxxviii 

"Thou knowest, Cedric," said the Saxon king, 
"That from my youth I have been strong to meet 
"With buoyant heart each outward happening, 
"Nor weakly bow'd to any fond conceit. 
"Thou knowest, also, I have kept my feet 
"Unmov'd amidst the whirlwind of alarms, 
"Whose gusty blowings round my pathway beat; 
"And ever gaily faced a thousand harms, 
"Nor cared for portents vain, nor leaned on 
hidden charms. " 

xxxix 

"But now the shadow of an inward fear, 
"A something that I know not, seems to rise 
"Between me and the sunlight bright and clear, 
" Like sudden clouds upon the summer skies, 
"What sayest thou, Cedric? Thou wert ever wise 
"In word and deed; and now, a lonely soul, 
"I turn to thee with question in mine eyes: 
"Canst thou interpret for me, and unroll 
"The troubled thoughts that heave beyond my 
heart's control?" 



xl 

And Cedric calmly answer'd, "Life is but 
"A brief campaign, and no man can afford 
"To look upon the gates of hope as shut, 
"Or dare to guess what treasures there are stored. 
"Think of what lies before thee, dear my Lord, 
"And let not past or even present ill 
"Filch from thy soul anticipation's hoard; 
"Go gladly on thy duty to fulfil, 
"And leave to heaven the rest, for heaven dis- 
poses still. " 

CANTO II 



How little know we of our friends or foes, 
As through the woven mystery of life 
We make our way; and years too late disclose 
The meaning of its concord and its strife. 
With huge results what little deeds are rife; 
A word, a glance, a moment's doubtful stay, 
A harvest sows for Time's avenging knife, 
Or lays foundations which some future day 
Shall crown with towers of light, or reverend 
glory gray! 



But who can tell what motion or what tone 
Shall yield a present bliss, a far delight, 
Shall end in triumph or in sorrow's moan, 
In gleaming sunshine or in gloomiest night? 
The friend may bate, the foe enlarge our right, 
The grief may gladden and the joy depress, 
The bright day darken or the dark grow bright, 
We cannot tell. Then should our lives express 
Our trust in heavenly God who knoweth great 
and less. 



Ill 

Alfleda, Morkar's sister, waits her lord, 

In York's fair town the wedding feast to keep, 

Waits till her hero lay aside his sword, 

His weary eyes in love's soft balm to steep. 

Now, while the twilight's deep'ning shadows 

creep 
Round porch and battlement and hoary tower, 
The lighted halls the trumpets' echoes reap, 
As comes King Harold with his conquering power 
To meet his lovely bride, and crown the festal 

hour. 



IV 

The royal pair upon a lofty throne 
Amid their sturdy thanes the banquet graced; 
Lamps gleam, and torches flash, and tables groan, 
And generous Bounty takes no thought of waste. 
Now Hunger finds refreshment to his taste, 
With mighty joints and smoking dishes plied, 
And he who late the charging foeman faced, 
At Plenty's board a henchman does abide; 
Mirth rolls her twinkling eye, and Laughter 
shakes his side. 



Nor yet was Beauty wanting: dame and maid, 
True wife and ladye-love, enhanced the joy, 
And lovely eyes beneath the witching shade 
Of drooping lashes glimmer 'd bright * and coy. 
No sign was there of trouble or annoy, 
For Victory smiled, and Love himself was near, 
That ever-careless, dream-delighted Boy, 
Who, all unseen and roseate with the cheer, 
Touch'd as he pass'd each heart, and breath'd 
in every ear ! 

24 



VI 

Down the long hall the merry joyance flies; 
Wine, brimming silver cups, from hand to hand, 
Mead, mellowed with the juice of mulberries, 
And pigment with its spice and honey bland; 
While, at the warriors' backs, in order stand 
Ranged on the walls the weapons of the fight, 
Spear, helmet, corselet, sword and battle-brand, 
To Saxon hearts an ever-goodly sight, 
Nor vain the boast that they could handle them 
aright. 

vii 

At Harold's side his brother Gurth was seen, 
Of goodly presence, such as princes wear 
Who hide strong hearts behind a gallant mien, 
And know that coronets are lined with care. 
His King and brother's fortune to upbear 
In weal or woe, no other aim he knew; 
In council not unwise, but bold to dare, 
And daring, to his purpose ever true: 
No idle blade the sword that from his scabbard 
flew! 

viii 

Beside his sister sate Northumbria's chief, 
The stout Earl Morkar, Harold's wisest thane, 
Who knew, when action summon'd, to be brief, 
Nor when he struck was wont to strike in vain. 
A man he was above all sordid gain 
Of gold or place, cool, competent, and brave, 
Whose honour never blush'd beneath a stain, 
Whose voice is like an organ, deep and grave, 
To hush the stormiest tongue when human 
passions rave. 

ix 

The queen Alfleda is a joy complete, 
And dark of eye, and of a comely grace, 
25 



Her features mellowed by the love-light sweet 
That shines like summer from her beauteous face. 
'Tis plain to see she comes of noble race; 
Her well-poised head and fearless eye foretell 
That death is welcome sooner than disgrace: 
Beneath her purple tunic rose and fell 
A breast as free from guile as heaven is far from 
hell. 



King Harold sits beside her, glad to see 
The lovely light that dances in her eyes, 
And now he prays that happiness may be 
The destin'd future of his darling prize. 
To wear a joyful countenance he tries, 
Nor tries in vain; for who can vainly seek 
To flout hard winter under summer skies? 
Or, safely set near Beauty's blushing cheek, 
Wave anxious care aside, in hope's sweet tones to 
speak? 

xi 

"Belov'd Alfleda! joy has come at last, 
"And, battle o'er, the warrior claims his bride; 
"Long, long may Peace her greenest mantle cast 
"O'er England, and her happy monarch's pride. 
"Bethink thee, love, how gladly at thy side 
"I sit tonight; how excellently sweet 
"It is to feel that, all my foes defied, 
"There's nought to call me from my Lady's feet: 
"Sure this is realm enough, and royalty com- 
plete!" 

xii 

So spake the king of England: swiftly came 
The answering look that shew'd his queen's 

delight, 
Her dark eyes flash, her cheeks are all aflame, 
Her lovely face is exquisitely bright. 
He, like the Sun-god, from detaining Night 



Leaps to his glittering car, and speeds aloft; 
But, as the Moon with rich though shadowy light 
Pours her still beams o'er meadow, stream, and 

croft, 
So gently flowed her speech, so eloquently soft. 

xiii 

"O never think I doubt thy precious love, 
"I know thee, Harold, ever brave and true; 
"I do but fear lest I unworthy prove 
"Of him who deigns so courteously to woo. 
"How little 'tis a woman's hand can do, 
"And yet that little is not wholly vain; 
"Be mine the blessed pathway to pursue, 
"To win the goal that woman should attain, 
"Crown of her husband's joy, best solace of his 
pain. " 

xiv 

So spake in Harold's ear his Saxon bride: 
In her dark eyes the gleaming love-light leaps, 
Like the quick flashes through the midnight wide, 
When her full court the queenly Summer keeps. 
A tenderer joy within her bosom sleeps 
Than tongue can utter or the place invite; 
Yet fullest satisfaction Harold reaps, 
For rosy Hope, in raiment heavenly white, 
Leads on his captive heart, and fills him with 
delight. 

xv 

Apart, at Harold's table, sits the bard, 
His reverend face all beautiful with age, 
Calm as the Night that, seated many-starr'd 
From day to day turns o'er the silent page. 
Yet in that calmness what prophetic rage! 
In that serene what hidden power of storm! 
The warrior-bard the passing scene to gauge 
Is swift and keen; so quickly waxing warm 
O'er his loved harp he bends his venerable form. 
27 



XVI 

Soon as his fingers wake the thrilling strings, 
The gleemen hush their song, the thanes are mute, 
For well of old they know the voice that sings, 
And none the bard's pre-eminence dispute. 
At first in dreamful tones, like wailing lute, 
The well-tuned wires to his touch reply; 
Then deeper chords break in, as at the foot 
Of some tall cliff the waves beat loud and high, 
Long-rolling, till they burst with multitudinous 
cry. 

xvii 

Brave Harold, King of earls, and he 

The noble Gurth, have won 
A lasting glory in the fight 

That closed at set of sun; 
They clove in twain the wall of shields 

With spear and battle-brand, 
They hewed the waving banners down 

For kinsmen, home and land. 

That mighty star, God's candle bright, 

Was hastening to her bed — 
They faint, they fall; the battlefield 

Is cover 'd with the dead: 
Dark-stricken, many a soldier lies 

Amid the crimson gore, 
And many a hero proud and bold 

Shall join the fight no more. 

Across the ever-beating deep 

In hardy ships they came, 
They sought this land for deadly fight, 

They fought for deathless fame; 
And in that blood-dyed battlefield 

They found a hero's grave, 
Youth's bloom and manhood's prime were spent 

Like foam upon the wave. 
28 



No more they boast their stern renown 

Amid the clashing spears; 
No more their flaunting banners wave 

When England's might appears: 
Over the roaring sea they go, 

Their homeward track to trace, 
The Northmen in their nailed ships 

Now bury their disgrace. 

Hail to the brave ! their lusty praise 

Through Britain's borders rings, 
The Saxon land, with gladness fill'd, 

The fight triumphant sings: 
To foemen found on English ground 

One prize alone we yield — 
The raven and the battle-hawk, 

The wolf upon the weald! 

xviii 

So sang the bard, mid many a flashing eye, 
And lifted hand, and joy-expressive cheek, 
And Harold, listening, felt the hour draw nigh 
When he some words of lofty cheer should speak. 
It was not that his manly heart grew weak, 
Nor that he own'd a hesitating tongue, 
That now he wished 'twere in his power to wreak 
His thought in action, rather than among 
Men flushed with sudden pride, and hearts so 
highly strung. 

xix 

Full keen he felt, with bodings dark and dire, 

How soon the shout of victory might depart; 

Too well he knew the Norman's vengeful ire, 

His strong array, his military art. 

Yet firm was he to keep a fearless heart, 

And stand unshaken, whatsoe'er befel; 

And so, though clouds upon his vision start, 

To heaven he looks, and bids his doubt farewell; 



As England's king he lives till sound the passing 
bell! 



"Ye thanes of England, and ye warrior knights, 
"Whom Victory's hand has crowned with wreaths 

of fame! 
"Ye who have tasted battle's fierce delights, 
"And shed such glory on our Saxon name! 
"Be mindful of the stock from whence ye came, 
"Nor ever let inglorious pleasure rust 
"Your hardy strength, or quench the worthier 

flame 
"Of stalwart honour, whose unshrinking trust 
"Pours life into the heart, and lifts it from the 

dust." 

xxi 

"God grant that Peace upon our English shore 
"May make her dwelling-place, and here remain! 
"But if, instead, the battle-drum once more 
"Shall call us, comrades, to the field again, 
"To meet the host of Norman or of Dane, 
"Then let our swords be many, our words few, 
"Speak with the battle-axe, nor speak in vain, 
"Rain blows like hail, send devastation through 
"The flying ranks, and prove what English hands 
can do!" 

xxii 

So ended he: and like the tree-tops stirr'd 
By sudden rush of wind a shout arose, 
As from one mouth the ringing cry was heard, 
" Long live King Harold ! Perish England's foes ! " 
And as when o'er the deep the tempest blows, 
And gathering surges fill the loud acclaim, 
So down the banquet-hall the rapture goes, 
Caught up from thane to knight, from knight to 
dame, 

30 



Till shook the hanging spears with England's 
echoing name. 

xxiii 

The laughter of the cymbals, and the hum 
Of happy pipes — the plaint of violin, 
And deep rebounding music of the drum, 
Their pleasures heighten, and their plandits win. 
Of fierce adventure many a tale they spin, 
And many a song of battle they rehearse; 
With voices neither dissonant nor thin 
They praise the hero and the coward curse, 
And loud the grand refrain rings out at every verse. 

xxiv 

Far down the hall, amid the spearmen seated, 
Glow'd one fair face, when Harold's praise rang 

high; 
Ofttime beneath her breath his name repeated 
Call'd love's own sunlight to her downcast eye: 
And when she thought none noticed who sate by, 
A glance, as swift as swallow through the air, 
Shot forth, but dared not hover lingeringly; 
The music of his praise rejoic'd to share, 
For all that chanced beside she wished nor deigned 

to care. 

xxv 

Her lovely face, her blue eyes heavenly sweet, 
Her dimpled chin, and soft entreating air, 
Her pale grey tunic falling tow'rd her feet, 
Her linen headrail, and her flaxen hair; 
Her gentle looks, now fill'd with mute despair, 
Now with rich hues like morning mantled o'er, 
Though shrinking from all eyes, bespoke her fair, 
So passing fair, Love could not but adore 
The Beauty with Swan's Neck, which was the 
name she bore. 

31 



XXVI 

While Harold yet was but Earl Godwin's son, 
To Edith's charms he fell a willing prey, 
The gallant youth her heart's devotion won, 
She learn'd to love — 'twas easy to obey. 
So when it chanced upon a certain day 
In firm but gentle tones he bade farewell, 
And left her for a crown, and turned away, 
Her soul, mid bitter tears, could not rebel; 
How much she loved him still she knew, but could 
not tell. 

xxvii 

So, like a sunset in her heart, became 

Her cherished love; a worship from afar; 

A fire compact of heat, without the flame; 

A dreamful melody that nought could mar; 

A tide, whose throbbings deep and regular, 

Smote the lone sands of her deserted bliss; 

A voice, as voices in the forest are, 

Heard dimly through the thick leaves' wilderness; 

A thrilling through the night, a beacon in distress. 

xxviii 

Oft to herself she sighed, "What comes to me, 
"To me whose summer is, and yet is not? 
"All that I was, and all that is to be, 
"Merged in that saddest of all words — forgot! 
"How soon Grief's envious mists have come to 

blot 
"Hope's royal noon — how soon the sunlit wave 
"Has roll'd into the shadow — while each spot 
"Peace loved so well now hears the tempest rave, 
"And lo, I stand as one who looks into his grave ! " 

xxix 

"Yet if for Harold these poor hands of mine 

"Can ever do one little deed of love, 

"How shall I scorn to hear my heart repine, 



"And my lips wail as doth the woodland dove! 

"Now will I live my constancy to prove, 

"And Heaven will grant her weakest child this 

boon: 
"For God is Love, and all things in Him move, 
"And love unselfish keeps our hearts in tune, 
"And reaps from good or ill rich harvest, late or 

soon. " 



In years gone by, while yet a blithesome child, 
Whose fairy feet went laughing o'er the hills, 
What time she wove her wreaths and garlands 

wild, 
With heart as merry as the daffodils; 
Or chanted songs that, tuneful as the rills, 
Perchance had words expressive, or had none, 
But ever had within them that which fills 
The soul with joy when, summer's day begun, 
The leaves and grasses dance and sparkle in the 

sun: 

xxxi 

In these past years — how swift they come to all, 
How swift they go! — the little maid was known 
To Cedric, noblest harper in the hall, 
Nor less good knight in battle. She had grown 
As fair as any picture of his own, 
That charmed the poet's eye. Full many an hour 
She crowned with light, when weary and alone 
Not even his loved instrument had power 
To chase his gloom, or woo sweet fancy's fresh- 
'ning shower. 

xxxii 

Now chancing down the hall to pass her way, 
His kindly eye soon rests upon her face; 
No word he speaks, no moment does he stay, 
But gains the door and leaves the banquet-place. 
33 



Well may she quit it too, and leave no trace, 
For now the gleemen roar, the mirth runs high, 
The crowding courses still each other chase: 
So, unperceived by any curious eye, 
She lifts the easy latch, and stands beneath the 
sky. 

xxxiii 

O Night, sweet Night! dear home of hapless 

hearts, 
Whom sorrow loves, and weary souls desire, 
What soothing balm thine influence imparts 
To those who gasp in life's embracing fire! 
Far up the mount of peace, and even higher, 
To heaven's own portals dost thou lead us on: 
With thee, considerate guide, we never tire, 
And those calm thoughts with thee serenely won, 
Make music in the strife, and shade beneath the 

sun! 



CANTO III 



Love may be sweet, but Friendship is secure, 
She is like Charity, and faileth not, 
By her companion's side her foot is sure, 
In selfish care he never is forgot. 
Too wise is she to sanctify each spot 
On which he treads, and so be overborne; 
Yet be he great or small, in humble lot 
Or prankt in gauds, she standeth not forlorn, 
But moveth heart and hand, lest ill he fare or 
mourn. 



The lovely lady pass'd into the night, 
And saw the stars above her shining down; 
The gentle stars, so exquisitely bright, 
34 



That in their presence we forget to frown; 

The silent stars, whose stillness seems to drown 

The mad unrest of day's delirious hours; 

The pensive stars, dear Contemplation's crown; 

The holy stars, that light Thought's hallow'd 

flowers, 
And tell of purer worlds than this sad world of 

ours. 

iii 

The ancient oaks clasp arms above her head, 
As if to shield her from the curious skies, 
As down the avenue with softest tread 
She slowly paced, the dream-light in her eyes. 
The visionary moonlight round her lies, 
Rich in fantastic shadows, and dim ways 
Of intricate delight: with no surprise 
She feels a presence near her, and doth raise 
Her eyes, while on her arm a light hand Cedric 
lays. 

iv 

"O Beauty!" quoth the bard, "I caught afar 
"The rhythm of thy footsteps, whose sweet sound 
"Is to my ear as winds of morning are, 
"That sing their matin songs o'er dewy ground; 
"While all the woodland choristers around 
"Pour from a thousand throats their heaven- 
born lays, 
"And every natural note a tongue hath found 
"With one accord a tuneful hymn to raise, 
"And echo glad its unpremeditated praise." 



More had he said, for still her presence fired 
The soul that dwelt within him with delight, 
But of this strain no more the maid desired, 
Nor cared to hear her praises sung tonight. 
Upon his arm she lays her fingers light, 
35 



And leads him to the shadow, where a seat 
Seems from its leafy curtains to invite 
Discourse unbroken. In this still retreat 
Upon a mossy stone she sinks down at his 

feet. 

vi 
And thus in low, but clear and steady tone: 
"Dear father, kind and good, who knowest well 
"Him whom my soul adores, for whom alone 
"In this sad world I care an hour to dwell, 
"Now to my listening heart the story tell 
"Of that false duke who claims our Harold's 

crown: 
"What right has he to Britain's lowliest dell? 
"What right has he to smirch her king's renown, 
" Or plant his robber flag in one fair English town? " 

vii 
"Small right," quoth Cedric, "as to us it seems, 
"Yet Harold swore on relics good and true, 
"And much of that same oath the Norman deems, 
"And drags it forth into the public view. 
"And 'tis not little that the duke can do, 
"A man he is, whose purpose once possest, 
"Will fiercely every obstacle push through, 
"Nor pause conflicting doubts to set at rest; 
"His will his conscience is, and stern that will's 
behest." 

viii 

"I hide not from thee that the prospect lours, 
"And clouds roll up against our England's sun; 
"Brave Harold's way is now no path of flowers, 
"Nor hah the darkness of that path begun. 
"Yet weep not, child; the battle is unwon 
"That sets our Saxon crown on Norman brows, 
"And ere that chance, in rivers blood shall run, 
"And heaven itself re-echo to the blows 
"That fall on caitiff heads, and feed the hovering 
crows. " 

36 



IX 

Then Edith upward glanced, with gesture slow; 
Full was her heart with thoughts she could not 

quell, 
And all her lovely face was like the snow, 
The pale sad lily, or white asphodel : 
"Speak not, O Cedric, of war's seething hell, 
"Clothe not in words the horrors of the field, 
"Of Harold and those fatal relics tell; 
"Full sure am I he will not tamely yield 
"To Norman force or wile: dear God, be Thou 

his shield!" 



"Be Thou his shield, dear God!" re-echoed he, 
"But listen, Edith, to the tale I tell: 
"Thou knowest that King Edward, over sea 
"Sent to his friend the duke, to guard them well, 
"Two hostages, that thus he might dispel 
"All fear of danger at Earl Godwin's hand; 
"The lot upon a son and grandson fell, 
"And they, too young their loss to understand, 
"Were wafted from the shore of their dear native 
land." 

xi 

"For more than ten long years they captives were 
"In William's keeping, when our Harold spake 
To Edward, of whose love he held full share, 
Tis time, dear Lord, these exiles' chains to 
break, 

'Both for their own and heavenly pity's sake; 
'To claim their instant freedom bid me go.' 
To whom thus Edward, 'If thou undertake 
'This perilous mission, it will work us woe, 
'And yield thee bitter fruit, for William well I 
know!'" 

37 



i( i i 



XII 

"But Harold heeded not, and went his way 
"Hunting and hawking to the southern shore, 
"And scarce his prow was wet with ocean's spray 
"Ere a rude tempest fell on him full sore, 
"And buffeted and broke, and swiftly bore 
"His helpless vessel to the river Somme, 
"Where Ponthieu's count claims suzerainty o'er 
"All men and things that driven by the foam 
"On his unfriendly coast seek transitory home." 

xiii 

"To Beaurain's castle were the captives taken, 
"Whence Harold to the Norman duke sent word 
"Of his untoward hap and lot forsaken, 
"Caged and restrained like miserable bird; 
"Wherefore, when these sad tidings William heard, 
"Swift messengers he sent the Earl to free. 
"His mission thus unwillingly deferred 
"To Rouen Harold went, where all might see 
"He was an honoured guest, and hailed right 
courteously. " 

xiv 

"'Thine are the hostages,' the duke declared, 
" 'They go with thee at once, if go thou must, 
" ' Yet, as a courteous guest, the feasts prepared 
" 'To do thee honour will detain, I trust, 
"'A man like thee, so gallant and so just!' 
"The open-hearted Harold heard, and stayed, 
"Tourneys and feats of hunting they discuss'd, 
"And many a day they spent in wood and glade, 
"And drank, where ladies smiled amd merry 
minstrels played." 

xv 

"A silver baldric and a bannered lance, 
"And glittering sword, to Harold William gave, 
"To Knighthood did the Saxon earl advance, 
38 



"He who saw ever bravest of the brave! 
"Right glad the duke his company to crave 
"Against the Bretons: well he proved his might, 
"And chanced some soldiers of the duke to save, 
"In quicksand swallow'd, from their evil plight; 
"And all the Normans praised his prowess in the 

fight." 

xvi 

"But soon the crafty duke his purpose shew'd, 
"Nor entertain'd the Saxon earl for nought; 
"His honeyed blandishments were but a goad 
"To urge his victim to the end he sought. 
"Yet never Harold by his guile was caught, 
"Nor lost the balance of his even mind, 
"But helpless he to ward the evil wrought 
"By him who would not hesitate to bind 
"In dungeon deep his guest, if so his will inclin'd. " 

xvii 

"Of good King Edward then the duke would 

speak, 
"When they were boyish friends in Normandy, 
"And laughing tell of many a youthful freak 
"And gleesome hour spent right merrily. 
"Once speaking so, he added carelessly, 
"As though the words dropt from him unaware, 
" 'Edward was wont to say, if ever he 
"'Were England's King, then I should be his heir!' 
"And so let fall a jest, and left the matter 

there." 

xviii 

"Yet to this subject he would still return, 
"And touch it lightly, as a minstrel lays 
"His hand upon his instrument, to learn 
"If all the chords be true before he plays. 
"But firmer grew his touch, as pass'd the days, 
"Till, urged to speech by his guest's reticence, 
"His tongue at last his prompting heart obeys, 
39 



"With, 'Harold, wilt thou help me to advance 
'"My claim to England's crown? Thou shalt not 
rue the chance.'" 

xix 

"Nov/ in the hunter's net was Harold caught, 
"And deem'd too late King Edward's warning 

true; 
"His fair position as a guest was nought, 
"Pris'ner he was, and that right well he knew, 
"Much wonder 'd he what he should say or do, 
"And all the world seem'd whirling up and down 
"In that sharp moment ere reply was due: 
"Yet could he not the fear of dungeon drown, 
"So some vague words let fall as touching 

England's crown. " 



"The duke these words as promise chose to view, 
"And quickly answer'd, 'Since thou dost consent 
" 'To aid me, Harold, this then thou must do — 
" 'Make strong old Dover's wall and battlement, 
"'Dig there a well, and when the time is spent 
" 'That I must wait, the castle yield to me; 
" 'One of my barons bold, on marriage bent, 
" 'Thy sister takes, and Adeliza thee; 
"'One hostage, too, I keep: to this thou must 
agree.'" 

xxi 

"So far the wily Norman won his way, 
" For not a friend had Harold in his need, 
"Nor hope of earthly power his doom to stay, 
"Nor soft relenting of unholy greed. 
"Could he with shining mail and warlike steed 
"In battle stout his lawful rights uphold, 
"No jot would he unto the Norman cede; 
"Then would he conquer, or in death lie cold, 
"Nor bend his Saxon heart to treason manifold." 
40 



XX11 

"But now, as honour'd yet dishonoured guest, 
" With all around him bent to work him woe, 
"What poignant anguish fill'd his manly breast! 
"How beat the wave of anger to and fro! 
"Yet yield he must, or into dungeon go, 
"To languish there full many a weary year, 
"And all his life's bright promise overthrow: 
"He shrank aghast, and steePd him to appear 
"Content the slight to bear, and hide the wound 
severe. " 

xxiii 

"But ere from out the Norman land he came, 
"Another trial did his heart endure; 
"Like panther creeping on his helpless game, 
"Th' insatiate duke would all he might secure 
"From his insulted guest, his prisoner poor, 
"So, on his throne amid his nobles seated, 
"Thinking to make his base-born bargain sure 
" (But may the powers that rule above defeat it !) 
"The Earl was usher'd in, whom, bowing low, 
he greeted. " 

xxiv 

"'Harold, before this company assembled, 
" 'I bid thee now that promise to renew 
Which thou didst give me' (thus his tongue 
dissembled), 
"And here by oath confirm in public view: 
' 'To wit, that thou wilt aid me, firm and true, 
"When Edward dies, to make his kingdom mine; 
' 'That thou my daughter Adeliza, too, 
' 'Wilt marry, and thy sister wilt resign 
' 'One of my lords to wed. Swear that my words 
are thine !' " 

41 



a i 



XXV 

"No choice had Harold now but yield his lips 
"To swear the thing he never can fulfil, 
"So from his tongue the word assenting slips, 
"While in his heart he binds his writhing will. 
"But scarcely had he ceas'd, when lo! a chill 
"Strikes through his soul, and some support he 

seeks 
"Whereon to lean, lest fear his body kill — 
"Before his eyes reproachful relics mix, 
"Beneath the cloth of gold where stood the 

crucifix!" 

xxvi 

Here ceas'd the bard, and look'd upon the maid: 
She, with a countenance all pale and worn, 
Like one who in a dream has been dismay 'd, 
And can not shake its shadows from the morn, 
Now to her knees by inward grief is borne, 
And, with her soft arms cross'd upon her breast, 
Her eyes uplifted and her air forlorn, 
And on her lips petitions unexprest, 
Is praying as one prays with anguish sore distrest. 
xxvii 

And Cedric gazed upon the wondrous face, 
Nor cared awhile her solemn trance to break, 
For sure she was a thing of passing grace, 
That any scene most beautiful would make. 
And not for his, but for her own dear sake 
He loved her, with a love that never dies; 
So fathers to their hearts their daughters take, 
And gather inspiration from their eyes, 
Assur'd that such a love is wholly good and 
wise. 

xxviii 

There in the moonlight beautiful she knelt, 
And poured to heavenly God her fervent prayer 

42 



For him, whose image in her heart she felt, 

As though it lived, and breathed, and shelter 'd 

there. 
For her own self she had nor hope nor care, 
And only one desire, that she might see 
Him issue forth into a clearer air, 
And joy-surrounded stand erect, and free 
From all the gloomy cares that now his portion be. 

xxix 

There in the moonlight, underneath the stars, 

By none disturb 'd, she breathed her soul above, 

A little space withdrawn from all the jars 

Of cruel life, that wound the heart of love. 

O, she was tender as the tenderest dove 

Whose cooings murmur through the woodland 

bowers, 
And her sad heart that while was conscious of 
Nought but the helplessness that overpowers 
The pure, the good, the brave, as beating rains the 

flowers. 

xxx 

Now, as the bard with sympathetic hand 
Would call her back from visionary dream, 
As one who wakes he sudden sees her stand, 
And o'er her countenance there flash'd a gleam 
Of light, that did an inspiration seem, 
A guiding purpose struggling into birth! 
Right well did this her lovely face beseem, 
Wherein the beauty of unconscious worth 
Shone bright, as brightly shines the dew-be- 
sprinkled earth. 

xxxi 

So back unto the palace-door they paced, 
Minstrel and maiden, silently and slow, 
No mood in either soul a word to waste; 
Care-brimming hearts dread the tongue's overflow. 
43 



A soft good-night — then turn'd the bard to go; 
The hum of voices and the goblets' clash 
Smite on the ear with sharp discordant blow, 
As homeward fares the maiden, pale as ash, 
Nor heeds the tear unseen that trembles on her 
lash. 

CANTO IV 



Into the fairest day, the goodliest road 
That mortals travel, what surprises start! 
The tempest swoops upon the king's abode, 
And ruin rushes on the prosperous mart : 
And on the hidden highway of the heart 
What sudden griefs like treacherous robbers rise, 
And wild confusion to the soul impart, 
And fill the air with those unfruitful sighs 
Which wisdom mourns, but oft in vain to 1 >anish 
tries. 

ii 

The noble Gurth was cast in rugged mould, 
In speech abrupt, yet keen as northern wind, 
In action prompt, in heart as lion bold, 
First at the front, whoe'er might lag behind: 
A man of single eye, of purpose kind, 
In deed chivalric, pure, and malice-free, 
Yet to that world of widening beauty blind, 
Which love of art and letters holds in fee : 
But seek for valour's type, and who more brave 
than he? 

iii 

A valiant arm is sure a goodly prize, 
And counts its trophies upon sea and land, 
Yet some there be that are both strong and 
wise, 

44 



For field and council fit — in brain and hand: 
Nor these the less sublime in battle stand, 
For that they know the chances stern to weigh, 
And can a vision unobscured command 
Of all misfortune that may breed dismay, 
And from their grasp the palm of victory wrench 
away. 

iv 

Prince Leofwin, Harold's brother, thus was graced, 
In arts and arms full learned; one who knew 
That headlong valour oft himself debased, 
To fair Discretion scorning homage due. 
Much had he ponder 'd, as the shadows grew 
Around the throne on which his brother sate, 
What course a manful wisdom should pursue, 
To prop the threaten 'd pillars of the state, 
And fend the kingly rule from dangers foul and 
great. 

v 

No feeble wight was he, who spent his days 
O'er parchment scrolls within a hermit cell, 
Who scarce could stand beneath the noonday 

blaze, 
For that the midnight lamp he loved too well: 
No! mid the tourney's shock he could excel, 
And fly his pennon with the bravest knight 
That ever mounted steed his foe to quell; 
As much at home amid the sounding fight 
As any champion rude whose strength was all 

his might. 

vi 

Yet as it is today, and still has been, 
Unpolish'd souls the scholar's skill suspect, 
As though all letter'd wit must still be lean, 
And strength of body strength of mind reject. 
Ah, me, how loveless are the circumspect 
45 



In meaner spheres of thought, who can not view 
The grand horizon of the soul's elect, 
But bend their narrow powers to undo 
The work that wisdom plans, and genius marches 
through. 

vii 

Now Leofwin, knowing of the duke's intent, 
Had sent an errant Knight to spy the land, 
That he might learn how best to circumvent 
The Norman's will, and all his might withstand. 
A trusty messenger, at his command, 
Was Siward, who a wanderer had been 
By many a distant shore and foreign strand; 
Both quick of tongue and wit was he, I ween, 
And could his action suit to every changing 
scene. 

viii 

He, now return'd, unto the prince addrest 

His eager steps, a full report to shew 

Of all that he had gather'd in his quest 

In Norman land, amid the high and low. 

An anxious list'ner was the prince, I trow, 

Nor comment made, but question 'd close and 

keen 
And soon decided that the knight should go 
To Harold, who was pacing on the green 
With meditative steps, a pause each turn between. 

ix 
The sun was setting yellow in the west, 
The wind was moaning in the murmuring trees, 
Which here and there in autumn garb were drest, 
And seem'd to shiver in the evening breeze. 
Beneath them, Harold paced, not all at ease, 
In spite of victory's smile and love's delight; 
For never aught an anxious heart can please, 
Nor cloudless joy seem radiant in the sight 
Of him whom doubts molest, and fateful dreams 
affright. 

46 



Then Leofwin drawing near, right courteously 
Presented good Sir Siward to the king, 
"A knight" quoth he, "late come from Normandy 
"I pray thee hear the tidings he doth bring. " 
To whom then Harold, mildly answering, 
As was his wont, made brotherly reply, 
A greeting kind to Siward offering, 
Whom he had mark'd, with penetrating eye, 
As not unworthy trust in matters grave and 
high. 

xi 

Awhile they talk'd, then turn'd into the hall, 
Where mighty logs were blazing on the hearth, 
And casting shadows round about the wall, 
That danced and flicker 'd in their silent mirth, 
As though they mock'd at all the joys of earth 
Which, like themselves, themselves still chase 

away. 
Ah, me, are we not shadows from our birth? 
Shadows of glory rushing to decay! 
Shadows of hope and strength that melt into 

dismay ! 

xii 

Ere long the servitors the tables set, 
And beaming lamps bade all the shadows flee 
That late had danced, with none their mirth to let, 
In all the pride of solitary glee. 
And now the long hall murmurs like a sea, 
And manly feet make music on the floor, 
As comes each chieftain of the household, free 
To sit at meat his sovereign liege before, 
To share the toast, and drain the flagon brimming 
o'er. 

xiii 

Apart upon a dais Harold sate, 

With Leofwin, Gurth, and Morkar; at his side 

47 



The good knight Siward shared the royal state, 
And found his wants right royally supplied. 
And now the merriment rang far and wide, 
As though all care were but a sick man's dream, 
And heavy sorrow but a thing untried, 
And woe a phantasy. So lightly deem 
Hearts that look not beyond the things that 
pleasant seem. 

xiv 

"I went not as a trusty knight might go, 
"But as a churl or rude artificer,' ' 
Quoth Siward to the king, who bade him shew 
What plots in Norman land might be astir. 
"I went like some adventurous wanderer, 
" Serjeant-of-arms, camp-follower, vagrant squire, 
"That as to my intent all men might err, 
"And I, obscure, fulfil my heart's desire, 
"All things to see and hear, and of all things 
enquire. " 

xv 

"When last the Spring began to pipe her song, 
"Came all the scum and outcast of Poitou, 
"France, Flanders, Brittany, the roads along 
"In rags, and weeds, and clouts — a motley crew; 
"Smith, hind and cooper, armourer and Jew, 
"Beggar and ruffian, fisherman and clown, 
"Each with a castle in his fancy's view, 
"Each hoping for a barony or town, 
"When Normandy's proud duke should wear our 
England's crown!" 

xvi 

"Amid this greedy herd came here and there 
"A broken knight, or hapless troubadour, 
"Whose tangled love-locks blowing in the air 
"Made all his tinsel bravery more poor. 
"So roll'd the tide tow'rd Normandy, secure 
48 



"In hope that Fortune would their path illume, 
"And wealth to each adventurer assure, 
"How, they cared not: the future's teeming womb 
"Might bring them ease and fame — a palace or a 
tomb!" 

xvii 

"But all were welcome, and the knavish crowd 
"Found ready labour at the duke's behest: 
"Some with their backs beneath the burden 

bow'd 
"Loaded the ships, a toil that knew no rest; 
"Some polish corselets, make the helmet's crest 
"Shine like the sun, or brighten spur and shield; 
"Or point of spear, of pike or javelin test; 
" Or henchman's service to some proud knight yield ; 
"All eager for the duke to lead his host afield." 

xviii 

"Yet day by day the banners swung their folds 
"In empty state along the anxious air; 
"In vain they eye the prize the future holds, 
"No trumpet sounds the march with cheerful blare. 
"Still for the grand invasion they prepare, 
"As though, each coming moment, beat of drum 
"Might to the restless host the summons bear: 
"But Battle stood apart, a spirit dumb, 
"Save where from out the camp his mutterings 
seem'd to come." 

xix 

"The Norman barons yielded to their lord, 
"Not daring to refuse, substantial aid, 
"Yet each one sad to trench upon his hoard, 
"Aware how cheaply promises are made. 
"They doubted much to draw the battle-blade 
"In cause so vague, and pledge their solid gold 
49 



"A proud and sturdy kingdom to invade, 
"Though o'er them waved in many a gaudy fold 
"The consecrated flag Rome's pontiff had un- 
roll'd." 

xx 

"The duke made levies on the populace, 
"And little reck'd so he secured their gold, 
"And won from them a favourable face: 
"Full well he knew imagination's hold 
"On sordid minds and passions manifold. 
"By such-like means, and making proclamation 
"In neighbouring countries of the wealth untold 
"In store for all, whate'er their rank or station, 
"His army swallow'd up the scum of every 
nation. " 

xxi 

"Yet some there were whose names we may 

regard 
"With more respect, as Mandeville, Mohun, 
" Fitz-Osbern, Basset, Omfreville, Brassard, 
"Lucy and Lacy, Percy and Bohun, 
"And many another. These were all in tune 
"With the proud duke: besides I now recall 
"Bagot and Bigot, Talbot, Malvoisin, 
"Malin and Bayward — -but to name them all, 
"Is more than memory grants to one poor knight 

to fall!" 

xxii 

"At the Dive's mouth the vessels of the fleet 
"Swung idle at their anchors, for the wind 
"Refused the duke's rash purpose to complete, 
"And spurn'd the aim of his usurping mind. 
"The murderous horde, in narrow camp confined, 
"Now murmur'd at the ominous delay; 
"Some fear'd that heaven his ruin had designed, 
"And thought to leave him — when upon a day 
50 



"A breeze sprang up, and bore the fleet upon its 
way. " 

xxiii 

"But when it reached St. Valery, again 
"The changeful wind grew sullen; ships were lost 
"With all their armaments; and many men 
"Found death amid the waves they would have 

crost. 
"Both ships and human hearts were tempest- 
tost; 
"Some swore the duke was mad, and gave no 

heed 
"To words of cheer, or hollow-sounding boast; 
"Some beat their breasts, and wailed their bitter 

need, 
"And paced the yellow sands that mock'd their 
villain greed. " 

xxiv 
« 

/ Then in the silent night I stole away, 
/And left my malison upon the head 
/Of him whose foul design I saw decay. 
/There may he, mid the living and the dead, 
/Long view his standards droop discomfited, 
'For little fear have I that robber crew 
'To England's sacred shore will e'er be led; 
'There let them moulder in the damp sea-dew, 
'And learn that God is just, and hates the cause 
untrue!" 



So spake the knight, and ceasing lifted up 
The wassail-bowl, its brimming sweets to taste, 
But ere his ruddy lips had touch'd the cup, 
Unwonted movement at the door he traced, 
And paused, what time his eye the distance 

chased — 
When, rude disturber of the banquet's hum, 
51 



One burst into the hall with furious haste, 
And cried aloud, like sudden beat of drum, 
"The Normans!" and again, "The Normans! 
they are come!" 

xxvi 

Then died the festal merriment away, 

As o'er some fine and frolic hour in Spring 

The crabbed Winter throws his mantle gray, 

And all at once the sweet birds cease to sing. 

How swift the shadows evil tidings bring! 

What sombre veils o'er human joys they cast! 

Thrice happy, then, who from their troubles 

wring 
A loftier calm, and warn'd by trials past, 
Have fix'd their trust on things that time and 

change outlast! 

xxvii 

Yet not in terror, nor in dull dismay, 
These tidings Harold and his warriors heard, 
'Tis true they drove their merriment away, 
But stern resolve within their bosoms stirr'd. 
No men were these to tremble at a word, 
Or sit and listen to forebodings dire; 
They sprang to arms, as upward springs the bird, 
And in their breasts the consecrated fire 
Like some great beacon's blaze grew higher still, 
and higher! 



canto v 



There is a hidden spirit in the deep, 
That teaches all its waves a general song, 
Though loud and fierce against the cliff they leap, 
Or up the sands in lines of beauty throng. 

52 



This music bears the listening soul along, 

As dreams their marvels to the mind convey, 

Unseen, unsought, inexplicably strong: 

So one shall hear the thunder far away, 

Yet whither it may roll unable be to say. 



And thus it is that on the tides of Time 
The lives they carry ever merge, and make 
A music universal and sublime, 
Not for their own, but for the common sake. 
Full many a colour from the scene they take 
O'er which they travel, and from which they fade 
Like shadows sweeping o'er a mountain lake; 
And yet the hidden spirit is obey'd, 
Which each can feel, but none its secret power 
invade. 

iii 

On that September morning, when the fleet 
Of the stern duke made sail for England's shore, 
Calm as an infant lay the deep, and sweet 
Flash'd back the light from prow and dripping oar. 
The vessel of the Chieftain went before 
Like one that loves the leader's place, and braves 
All dangers that the future has in store, 
All terrors couched in storms or ocean caves, 
While shout of lusty throats outsings the gentle 
waves. 

iv 

A queen upon the waters proudly rode 
The ship of William, duke of Normandy, 
From her mast-head the holy banner flow'd, 
Beneath it streamed the Cross of Calvary. 
Upon the costly sails, of varied dye, 
Three golden lions blazed; and at the prow 
The figure of a child stood silently, 
53 



With feathery arrow fitted to the bow, 
As though to body forth the deed on which they 
go. 



So sailed they onward tow'rd the Saxon land, 
And when the Night, with crown of ebony, 
Star-set, extended her imperial hand, 
And Day's reluctant rear-guard forced to flee, 
High on the mast a lantern you might see 
That mock'd the gloom, yet heralded the way 
That led them to the land where they would be; 
Wrapt in his cloak the mighty Chieftain lay, 
And thought a thousand thoughts, and waited 
for the day. 

vi 

Waked by the parting Night the Dawn arose, 

And donn'd her robe of gray and sandals white, 

While over all her shadowy presence throws 

The soft suspicion of returning Light: 

The glowing deeps the Morning's steps invite, 

And soon the Sun her loved persuasion feels, 

And like a monarch rising in his might, 

In kindly answer to her sweet appeals, 

He lifts his golden brow, and all his pomp reveals. 



vn 

But where the fleet? Like solitary bird 
The duke's proud galley rides the waves alone, 
Her purple plumage by the soft wind stirr'd, 
But none are near her leadership to own. 
Her shining wings, now folded one by one, 
Tow'rd the far south she turns her wistful eye, 
The while her heavy ear the cheerful tone 
Of ocean's sunny laughter passes by; 
No rising prow is seen, no sail against the sky! 
54 



Vlll 



But soon the cry is heard, "They come! they 



come! 
The distance slowly opens, and behold, 
The Norman galleys into sight have swum, 
With all their spreading sails like shining gold! 
And now the shout of gratulation roll'd 
From wave to wave, and every banner leap'd 
To hail the sound; while happy hearts and bold, 
In blissful, bright anticipation steep 'd, 
Felt all the glory theirs Renown had ever reap'd. 



IX 



So stood they shoreward, every canvas set 
To catch the breeze that wafted them along; 
Few were the hearts look'd backward with regret, 
Many the lips that rippled into song. 
For now the end had come to waiting long, 
And Action waved Uncertainty aside, 
And Hope arose, that goddess heavenly strong, 
Her sweet -toned pipe to every ear applied, 
And spread her silver wings, and beckon'd o'er the 
tide. 



So came at last the promis'd land in sight, 
Whose long-wish'd shores had quicken'd many a 

dream, 
And mantled many a vision with delight. 
Now stand they gazing, faces all a-gleam, 
Some speak the thoughts that thrill them — others 

seem 
To find their joy in silence; and the sea 
Bears them all onward, whatsoe'er they deem, 
Till that great fleet, with all its chivalry, 
Lies anchor 'd in the bay that looks on Pevensey. 
55 



XI 

But not a ship of England hove in view, 
Her fleet to port had turn'd, ere Norman sail 
Shadow'd the wave, provisions to renew. 
Long had it cruised, and rode out many a gale, 
And swept the seas in quest, without avail: 
For now, like tiger couch'd, they eye the shore, 
With hoof-resounding deck and clank of mail, 
Eager the isle of promise to explore — 
The foes that wind and wave have wafted safely 
o'er. 

xii 

Set slowly, slowly now, O solemn sun! 
The big world waits — a nation's hour is near. 
And yet the battle lost is also won — 
The Spirit of the Future see appear, 
Look through the serried ages, year by year, 
And shake his joyful wings with bright 'ning eye! 
But ah! for those whose guerdon is the tear, 
Whose life of life with one convulsive sigh 
Bursts through its mortal doors — impatient but 
to die ! 

xiii 

Scarce had the Morning risen from her bed, 
When leap'd the Norman warriors to the shore, 
And ey'd the pleasant land and sky o'erhead: 
Still from the ships a living stream they pour, 
As though the mighty waters, brimming o'er, 
Had cast them up, like seaweed, on the strand — 
Pikeman and archer, squire and troubadour, 
Stout man-at-arms and knight with mailed hand, 
And banners fluttering light, and shield and battle- 
brand. 

xiv 

The Norman archers with their close-cut hair, 

Short coats and mighty bows, were first to land; 

56 



Then came the knights, with corselets flashing 

rare, 
Helmets of glittering steel and lance in hand, 
And sturdy squires waiting their command; 
Then carpenters, and smiths, and pioneers 
Wheel'd into line, each in his proper band; 
And last, amid his haughty chevaliers, 
The last and yet the first, the Chief himself appears. 

xv 

But as with heedless foot he leap'd ashore 
Prone on the ground he fell! Thereat arose 
A thunderous murmur, and some voices swore 
"This is an evil sign, portending woes!" 
Up sprang the duke; his opening palms disclose 
The prison'd sand, his angry forehead lours, 
And sharply come the words, like athlete's blows, 
"Amazed, my lords? 'Tis seizin! Range your 

powers, 
"For, by God's splendour, all this English land 

is ours!" 

xvi 

Then ran a soldier to a cottage near, 

And pluckt the thatch that overhung the wall; 

"I give you seizin, Sire — it is here!" 

"This I accept, and God be with us all!" 

Quoth the stern duke. Then, at the trumpet's 

call, 
The warriors seat them on the gleaming sands, 
Nor heart of hope made appetite to pall, 
Nor any omen held their hungry hands, 
While smiling at their side the sunlit ocean stands. 

xvii 

To guard the Norman camp you might descry 
Two mighty wooden fortresses arise, 
Framed of huge timbers brought from Normandy, 
And soon their turrets frown against the skies. 
57 



Thus flank'd, th' invading army safely lies, 

The sentries take their posts, the watch-fires 

gleam, 
And weary men seek slumber's ministries, 
The many to repose, the few to dream, 
Till o'er the Saxon land another morning beam. 

xviii 

The earth itself lay dreaming, while the wind 
Made music through the night, and winking stars 
Look'd down, sublimely silent, coldly kind. 
What do these know, what reck they of the jars 
Of human wrath, that human gladness mars? 
The seas are full, the forests wave, the flowers 
Bloom unconcern'd amid the sepulchres; 
Tho' nations writhe, and monarchs hurl their 

powers, 
Yet smiles the placid earth, nor heaven denies its 

showers. 

xix 

O'er all the coast, when next the morning smiled, 
The Norman troops ran riot; Saxons fled 
With goods and cattle from their homes, despoil 'd 
By ruthless hands and rapine's wanton tread. 
Then too, as though the ashes of the dead 
Could guard them from the ravage of the foe, 
To church and churchyard eagerly they sped; 
Yet worse they might have done, full well I trow, 
Than seek the altar's shade in hour of grief and 
woe. 

xx 

On all the hills that overlook'd the sands 
The routed peasants stood, and sadly view'd 
Their ruin'd hearths and all their wasted lands, 
Fill'd with wild life, and yet a solitude. 
But one stout knight, with noble rage imbued, 
Without delay into his saddle clomb, 
58 



And day and night his tireless way pursued, 
Until in Harold's ear, like beat of drum, 
He cried, "The Normans! Ho! the Normans, 
they are come!" 



Hast thou not heard a tempest in the night 

Roll out its billowy thunders o'er the skies? 

So Saxon hearts as one did then unite, 

So Saxon warriors did as one arise! 

And shields were clash'd, and hoarse, indignant 

cries 
Resounding echoed through the wondering air; 
And men look'd up into their Captain's eyes, 
To read the purpose should be mirror'd there, 
The stern, defiant rage that all alike must share. 

xxii 

O love of country! love of hearth and home! 

How dear ye are to mortal man's desire; 

And dearer still, though far away he roam, 

And quick to kindle with responsive fire. 

Yet love like this should noblest hearts inspire 

With that more deep and more exalted sense 

Of human brotherhood, that soareth higher 

Than any love a nation's barriers fence, 

Or any bounded joy that dwells in souls intense. 

CANTO VI 



When the feast deepens, and the thoughts of men 
Are fill'd like fountains with o'erflowing cheer, 
And care finds none to bid her welcome — then 
How sweet is music unto heart and ear! 
Then from the strings, ecstatically clear, 
A rapture rushes, like a golden stream 
59 



Of light into some drowsy atmosphere, 

And dullest souls are redolent with dream, 

And faces flash with joy, that joy did ne'er beseem. 

ii 

But when within reverberating walls, 

Where feast the brave who know nor fear or 

shame, 
Some captain voice of outrage tells, there falls 
A sudden hush — and then a wild acclaim! 
Then bursts the music, like the ravening flame 
That leaps, and rears, and riots as it rolls 
Through the dry grasses to the woods that frame 
The quivering field; and nought the power con- 
trols 
That feeds indignant wrath, and fires responsive 
souls. 

iii 

I have seen a glorious vision — 

At the dawning of the day 
I was carried to Valhalla, 

To Valhalla far away; 
And bidden prepare the banquet 

For the coming of the brave, 
Who had fallen in the battle, 

And had fill'd a hero's grave. 

I blew the brazen trumpet, 

From their sleep the heroes wake, 
By their drinking-cups they seat them, 

And a voice like thunder spake — 
"What meaneth this mighty tumult? 

"These warriors in array? 
"These seats at the banquet table? 

"For whom is the feast today?" 

"It is Eric comes," said Odin, 
"With joy I await him here; 
60 



"Let the bravest forth to meet him, 
"He has won Valhalla's cheer!" 

Like the sound of rushing waters 
The shadows fiU'd the hall, 

The shadows of mighty heroes 
That came at the trumpet's call. 

Then Odin cried, "I salute thee! 

"Enter, and take thy due; 
"To Valhalla thou art welcome, 

"O warrior brave and true! 
"Thy sword it is red with the battle, 

"And so is thy deep-dyed spear; 
"Thy blows were the blows of the mighty, 

"Of a heart that knew no fear!" 

iv 

Thus Cedric sang, as in the days gone by 

Some ancient bard, with visage battle-bright, 

And proud his mien as one resolv'd to try 

His fate amid the billows of the fight. 

The men of fewer years and younger might 

Full swiftly caught the purpose of his lay, 

And hands were clench'd by many a stalwart 

knight, 
And ruddy youth rose frantic for the fray, 
And cursed the idle miles that held them from the 

prey. 



"Mount, thanes of England! Bid your powers 

advance ! 
"We march at once to meet the Southern foe, 
"And drive into the waves this hound of France, 
"Who dares to threaten Britain's overthrow. 
"Each to his post, captain and archer! Shew 
"What men can do to guard their native land; 
"Ere many days our valiant arms shall strow 
"With gory waste the desecrated strand, 
61 



"FouTd by the villain feet of William's ruffian 
band!" 

vi 

Thus Harold cried, as with a gleaming eye 
He sprang to mount his charger at the door, 
And far and wide was heard the rallying-cry, 
The trumpet's sound, the shout of men, the roar 
Of distant voices, as the riders bore 
The news of William's coming; and ere long 
Rode Harold forth to gain the southern shore, 
With many a fiery knight and footman strong, 
Intent to strike a blow for England's suffer'd 
wrong. 

vii 

Cool-headed Morkar had advised delay, 
To rest the weary troops and summon more, 
Ere to the southern coast he took his way, 
And ranged his strength the warrior duke before. 
Much would be gained, he argued o'er and o'er, 
For William's host, while waiting, must be fed, 
And, though the ravaged land he would deplore, 
Meantime the Saxon force would gather head, 
As through the country wide the call to battle 
spread. 

viii 

But Harold answer'd, "Gather all thou canst, 
"And follow southward: not an hour I wait, 
"This Norman upstart hath his power advanc'd, 
"And shakes the very pillars of the state. 
"If now to strike we seem to hesitate, 
"His wily soul will multiply alarms 
"Among the people, for his fame is great, 
"And great his skill to work a thousand harms: 
"Now is the time for blows, let who will shout 
"To arms!'" 



IX 

The strong Earl redden'd at the taunt implied 
But scarcely meant, for all his courage knew; 
But soon he swept the petty thought aside, 
And dared his prudent counsel to renew. 
Then Harold smiled — a smile so kind and true 
That Morkar loved him for his manly grace, 
And, bowing low, his slighted plea withdrew : 
So, standing still, he watch'd him for a space, 
As tow'rd the south he rode with stern, avenging 
face. 



Now well may Harold's bride her lover mourn, 
And shed the tears that, seeing, none may blame; 
But eyes that dare not weep because of scorn, 
And love that may not shew itself for shame, 
What bitter lot is theirs ! To know thy name 
Forgotten, and thy love without a share 
In that one heart whose kindness beggars fame, 
This is the very pang that breeds despair, 
The grief not all can feel, nor all that feel can bear. 

xi 

What eyes look out on Harold, as he rides 
Beneath the trees that skirt the public way? 
Are these beseeching orbs his lonely bride's, 
Begging him, all so piteously, to stay 
His reckless rushing tow'rd the ruthless fray? 
Is it his consort, fearing to be seen, 
Yet looking thus the all she dare not say? 
Nay! never thus would steal his haughty queen 
The interlacing boughs and rustling shrubs be- 
tween. 

xii 

Now, by her swan-like neck and flaxen hair, 
'Tis Edith, kneeling by a bubbling spring, 
63 



And breathing heavenward many a fervent prayer 
For her dear love, her England's gallant king. 
Now in her ear his charger's hoof-beats ring, 
And on his face there is a passing smile; 
But not for her, who would so gladly fling, 
Her loving arms around him, to beguile 
His weary heart, and ward his head from every 
wile. 

xiii 

Near by, within a quiet glade there stood 

A palfrey all caparison'd, that made 

An onslaught keen upon the verdant food, 

And cropt with eager haste the juicy blade. 

To him return'd the sweet devoted maid, 

And mounting, follow'd where the horsemen went; 

She, woman-like, her guiding heart obey'd, 

Nor paused for reason's cold arbitrament, 

Love was her only plea, and love her sole content ! 

xiv 

The bard, who rode in Harold's company, 
Knew not the maiden follow'd. She, full keen, 
Kept her love's quest close-hidden from his eye, 
As from all other. He, with noble mien, 
Bestrode no palfrey, but a charger clean 
In every limb, and strong for every need; 
And though the bard was not what he had been 
In lustier days, yet did he little heed 
Who warn'd him from the spot where warriors 
fight and bleed. 

xv 

So rode he on tow'rd London, day and night, 
Behind the fearless king, who urged his steed 
Right on to danger as some ride from fright, 
Unhappy still if aught relax'd his speed. 



For in his heart the cry of England's need 
Resounded ever, like a wakening drum, 
Still crying in his quivering ear, "Proceed! 
"On, Harold, on! the Normans, they are come!" 
Who spake of aught beside spake to the deaf and 
dumb! 

xvi 

And still the maiden followed as she might, 

Her ambling palfrey urging; through the day 

At distance rode, but quicken'd pace at night. 

Nor did she lack of terrors by the way; 

The terror of rude passengers, the play 

Of fearful fancy trembling at a shade, 

The moaning of great branches as they sway, 

The sudden hooting of the owls, that made 

The darkness shiver with their mournful serenade. 



xvii 

But on! she cried, and bade her heart be still, 
Nor make so wild a tumult in her breast; 
Untaught, she feels how strong is woman's will, 
How sure to compass what it deemeth best; 
In very weakness proudly manifest, 
A central calm amid a world of fears, 
A thing that may be curst, or may be blest, 
But will be victor, howsoe'er the tears 
May scald the gentle cheek, or blight the blossom- 
ing years. 

xviii 

So rode they on tow'rd London, day and night, 
Impetuous Harold rushing to the fray, 
Enraged against the foe that dared his right 
To England's throne so hotly to gainsay; 
Who came to filch his happy crown away, 
And dash his royal banner to the earth; 
To teach his land a tyrant to obey, 
65 



Turn peace to bitterness, to sorrow mirth; 
Thrice cursed be the hour that gave th' invader 
birth! 

xix 

To London come, he to his standard called 

All those who would their country's woes repair, 

Nor wait to see their fatherland enthralled, 

But swiftly march in her defence to share. 

For counsel now had Harold little care, 

And cautious words at once aside he thrust, 

For fix'd resolve no argument will bear; 

In battle's God alone he put his trust, 

To smite the robber down, and roll him in the dust. 



Yet, had he waited, Mercia and the West 
And North, with thousands had his ranks sup- 
plied 
With horse and foot, and spearmen of the best, 
Long used to arms and in the battle tried. 
But now he gather 'd from the country-side 
Such straggling bands as he could first obtain; 
And on the justice of his cause relied 
O'er thrice his strength a victory to gain, 
O'er foes that camp'd at ease full fifteen days had 
lain. 

xxi 

Near Hastings Harold did the foe espy, 
And on a range of hills his force display 'd; 
Which William, noting with a watchful eye, 
On a near height his larger power array 'd. 
Already William's messengers had made 
Offers, that Harold's duty nor his pride 
Might entertain, the conflict to evade; 
Firm in his resolution to abide, 
He answer 'd that the God of battles should de- 
cide. 

G6 



XX11 

A monk new offers brought, assent to crave, 

Who, on refusal, published far and wide 

That they who joined the Saxon king should have 

All benefits of holy Church denied. 

And some grew pale at what might thus betide, 

Yet, in their darkest musing, failed to find 

Excuse to turn them from their country's side, 

Or to their simple duty make them blind: 

So inborn still is right in patriotic mind! 



xxni 

One cried, "We ought to fight, however dread 
"The danger be. No question now, I ween, 
"What lord shall rule us, if our king were dead, 
"For by this duke to baron, knight, squireen, 
"Our goods, our wives, our daughters, all have been 
"Beforehand promised, with our homes and land! 
"What shall be left us, if to him we lean? 
"Fight, thane and churl! while ye can wield a 

brand, 
"Till not one foe remain on Britain's shore to 

stand!" 



XXIV 

This Cedric hearing, on his harp he laid 
His eager hand, and with a sudden clang 
Awoke the chords, as though he were afraid 
To make too soft a music: and he sang — 

"0 Saxons ! if ye ever knew 
What 'tis to fight a foe accurst, 

Now to your fathers' fame be true, 
And let the tide of battle burst 

As fierce as billows when they foam, 

For king and country, wife and home." 
67 



"For wife and home, for all that here 
In this our happy England lies, 

Advance the shield — uplift the spear, 
And drive it in your foemen's eyes, 

Till broken, bleeding, bruis'd and blind, 

They flee like leaves before the wind. " 

"Spare not a single Norman kerne 
That fights beneath tomorrow's sun; 

"They come to ravish and to burn, 
They know no pity, shew them none! 

As thieves and robbers hew them down, 

For Britain's weal, for Harold's crown." 

"Now Saxons! lift your hands on high, 
And make to heaven your firm appeal, 

That this dear land shall never lie 
Beneath the Norman's iron heel: 

Swear by the God in yonder sky 

In Freedom's cause to win or die!" 

xxv 

Then rose a shout that made the woodlands shake 
Through all their depths; the hills responding 

cried, 
And to their very centre seem'd to quake, 
As roar'd the Saxon voice from side to side. 
And then they spake of all their fathers' pride, 
And chanted hymns of battle, — songs that swept 
Their fiery souls from every purpose wide, 
Save that which Vengeance in the foreground kept : 
And round the cup they pass'd, nor weary felt, 

nor slept. 

xxvi 

Not so the Normans: to their priests they hie, 
Their sins in full right humbly to confess, 
Lest on the morrow unassoiled they die, 
68 



And by so much delay their blessedness. 
Yet little reck'd they of the sore distress 
On Saxon souls and bodies they must bring, 
If that same morrow give their arms success, 
And doors of happy households open fling, 
To 'Rapine, and the deeds that from her bosom 
spring. 

xxvii 

O why should man to man be so unkind, 
And wound, and waste, and torture, and defile, 
And pierce with arrows keen the sorrowing mind, 
And rage and hate, when he might love and 

smile? 
Are there not griefs enough, that he must pile 
On human heads unnecessary woe, 
And crowd a stony path with wanton wile, 
And make the cup of anguish overflow? 
Dear God! thou lovest all, but men thy love 

o'erthrow. 



CANTO VII 



War has its glory; but its glory dies 

For him who views the faces of the slain, 

And sadly weighs the awful sacrifice, 

With all its unimaginable pain. 

How vast the value of that crimson rain, 

Whosetjharvest's hate through many a canker'd 

year! 
Come, heavenly Peace ! thy rightful throne attain, 
That men may learn their brethren to revere, 
And passion's purple pomp no more its banners 

rear. 

69 



Uprose the sun upon that fateful morn, 
And the great day that many a sleepless eye 
Had anxiously awaited now was born, 
And smiled its salutation to the sky. 
Now, as the faint autumnal mist pass'd by, 
Bayeaux's bold bishop rode along the line 
Of Norman spears, and ranged the cavalry; 
And knight and archer in the morning shine 
Stood flush 'd with eager hope, and ruddy as the 
wine. 



in 



Nor least conspicuous in that brave array, 
The Norman duke upon his charger sate, 
Erect and stern, impatient for the fray, 
And keen to prove the coming battle's fate. 
Beside him rose in solitary state, 
By Toustain held, as symbol of his claim, 
The banner by the Pontiff consecrate; 
The charger neighed, and from the warriors came 
A murmur of applause, and shouts of William's 
name. 



IV 



Thereat the courser bounded into air, 
As if with joy, and through his nostrils blew 
Such trumpet tones as might revive despair! 
So match 'd were horse and rider, that not two 
But one they seem'd, to every instinct true 
That swept from hand or mouth along the rein. 
Aloft his lordly crest the charger threw, 
And stood erect, as wider sight to gain — 
And then the sounding hoofs beat music from the 
plain. 

70 



The Norman army in three columns stood, 
Flank'd by the bows and crossbows. As for those 
The mere adventurers, their levies crude 
Were left to their own leaders. William chose, 
As the chief weapon 'gainst his Saxon foes, 
The well-trained troops he had so often led 
Through many a battle to the battle's close: 
Now on his Spanish charger at their head 
He sate with lifted hand, and loud and clear he 
said: 

vi 

"Fight ye your best, put every one to death: 
"My gain is yours, for if I take the land 
"Ye shall the richer be at every breath, 
"And lords of every sod on which ye stand. 
"These woods and fields ye see on every hand 
"Are mine by right: chastise these rebel curs, 
"And spare not one of yonder barbarous band; 
"Who deems them worth a moment's pity errs; 
"In God's name, on! Who waits our victory 
defers!" 

vii 

On a hillside the Saxon armament 

In wedge-like form, with trench and palisade, 

Stood ready ranged; the warlike men of Kent 

Shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield arrayed. 

High on the summit of the hill display'd, 

The Saxon banner glitter'd in the sun; 

The figure of a warrior, in the braid 

Of woven gold and jewels, bright thereon, 

With fearless mien defied the Norman gonfalon. 

viii 

On foot beneath the standard Harold stood 
Amid his loyal Londoners, and there 
71 



Stood Gurth and Leofwin, brothers of his blood 
In life or death his destiny to share : 
And as the Norman war-cry fill'd the air, 
"God help us!" — loud the Saxons in reply, 
"The Holy Cross! The Cross of God!" declare; 
Strong in their faith, they wait with dauntless 

eye 
What Heaven may please to grant — to conquer 

or to die ! 

ix 

Then from the Norman ranks into the plain 
Rode out the warrior minstrel Taillefer, 
Chanting of Roland and of Charlemagne, 
A ditty meet his comrades' hearts to stir; 
And as he urged his charger with the spur, 
With dexterous hand his sword aloft he flung, 
And with a skill that never knew to err 
He caught it falling; while the song he sung 
Its answering burthen drew from every Norman 
tongue. 



Onward he rushed, and striking to the ground 
One Saxon slew, then laid another low, 
Ere he in turn his retribution found, 
Sent to the shades with one avenging blow. 
Then, close as waves that up the shingle flow, 
Came bolt and arrow hurtling through the air; 
Against the Saxons' ready shields they go, 
A harmless flight for which they little care, 
But tow'rd their foes a front impenetrable bear. 

xi 

Then fierce the footmen, with projected lance, 
Charge up the slope; while, riding ranked but 

free, 
The horsemen thunder in their swift advance, 
Eager to prove their vaunted chivalry. 
72 



But as when billows roll with savage glee 
Against a cliff, and in tumultuous roar 
Are backward flung, so horse and foot we see 
Swept back like breakers on the watery floor, 
And like the breakers fall — but fall to rise no 
more! 

xii 

Breathless and broken back the Normans drew; 
But William spake them cheerily, and bade 
Their ranks reform the struggle to renew, 
"Of such as these," he cried, "be not afraid!" 
Then, having swiftly disposition made, 
He bids his archers shoot their arrows higher, 
That downward falling, by the shields unstay'd, 
On face and neck, their ever-galling fire 
Might teach the sturdy knaves the wisdom to 
retire. 

xiii 

High soared the arrows in their circling flight, 
And under cover of their fall, again 
Came horse and foot to mingle in the fight, 
And blows and cries resounded ! But in vain 
The Normans seek a foothold to retain, 
They break, they flee — they flee like startled does, 
And add their corses to the crimson slain, 
While like a tempest, with redoubled blows, 
The angry Saxons rush, and chase their scatter 'd 
foes. 

xiv 

Wild is their flight! Within a deep ravine, 
The Norman horsemen in confusion caught, 
At bay like hunted animals are seen; 
Fierce is the strife, and dread the slaughter 

wrought. 
Unhorsed, their weapons now avail'd them nought, 
73 



Down came the heavy battle-axe, and hewed 
Helmet and coat of mail. In vain they fought, 
Thick on the earth their chivalry lay strew'd, 
And death triumphant made a grinning solitude! 

xv 

Then broke the left wing of the Norman host, 
And terror held her thought-dispelling reign; 
But wild dismay usurp 'd the hearts of most, 
When rumour mutter 'd that the Duke was slain! 
But soon, their fainting courage to sustain, 
The Duke appear 'd, and turn'd the battle's tide, 
For now each warrior took his place again, 
As helmetless he saw his leader ride 
Bold in the front, as one who could not be defied. 

xvi 

Once more the charging Normans strive to break 
The iron-handed, lion-hearted line, 
Which stands like pillars that no power can shake, 
Or walls that none can mar or undermine. 
Undaunted as at first, they give no sign 
Of weariness, or fear, or disarray, 
Or faintest wish the combat to decline; 
Whate'er may hap, to win or die they stay: 
Such was the breed of men that William fought 
that day! 

xvii 

Six hours had passed; and three the sun had sped 

Beyond the golden glory of the noon, 

With nought to shew but crimson heaps of 

dead, 
To wounds and death a melancholy boon: 
Yet English valour, like a harp in tune, 
Retains its concord; while the row of shields, 
Like leaves that wave along the woods of June, 
Still to the eye a front unbroken yields, 
74 



Close as the yellow grain that decks the autumn 
fields. 

xviii 

Amazed, and wearied with the stubborn force 
That all the power of his arms could stem, 
The Norman chieftain, as a last resource, 
Called to his aid a cunning stratagem. 
Here was a foe no warrior might contemn, 
Such men as these he dare no more despise; 
His proudest knights no terror are to them, 
His fiercest charge a worthless sacrifice: 
In skill alone he deems his hope of victory lies. 



xix 



Forthwith he bids Count Eustace of Boulogne 
With thousand horse assail the enemy, 
And suddenly, as though by force o'erthrown, 
Turn and retreat — to all appearance flee. 
Meantime, should any Saxons headlong be 
In their pursuit, behind them should deploy 
Another force of charging cavalry; 
While on their flanks the footmen would annoy, 
And swift with bolt and spear the helpless band 
destroy. 



And so it was : the Saxons in their rage 

Brake up their stern impenetrable line, 

And caught like hunted quarry in a cage, 

Gave aid unwitting to the fell design. 

Thrust in a mass their sinewy limbs they twine, 

And writhe, and wrench, and struggle — but no 

more 
They cleave the hated Normans to the chine; 
Fighting they fall, but none the fight give o'er 
Till death and silence reign where battle raged 

before. 

75 



XXI 

Yet those upon the outskirts of the band, 
Who space could find the battle-axe to wield, 
Hew'd down their foemen with unsparing hand, 
And with dismember 'd corses piled the field. 
For grace or pity not an eye appeal'd, 
No hand was raised in supplication mute, 
Fiercer they struck as down to death they reePd; 
So stands the oak mid warring winds' dispute, 
Till low its head declines, uptorn trunk and root. 

xxii 

Time and again the angry Saxons made 
Their furious rush upon the wily foe; 
Behind them leaving trench and palisade, 
Into the thickest of the fight they go. 
Up o'er the sands the rolling billows flow, 
And then return — but nevermore shall these 
Their places take in war's majestic row, 
And nevermore the battle-axe shall seize 
With double-handed might and death-conferring 
ease. 

xxiii 

Through the long hours at the standard's foot 
King Harold kept his station : many a thrust 
Of lance he parried; many an arrow smote 
His royal shield and sank into the dust. 
Beside him stood his brothers, in their trust 
Alike unfailing; while with voice and hand 
The monarch, conscious that his cause is just, 
The battle urges, issuing each command 
As one by Heaven decreed for Britain's right to 
stand. 

xxiv 

On foot, by choice, to meet the foe's attacks 
The Saxons stood; for mounted none could wield 
The heavy mace or ponderous battle-axe, 
76 



Or handle well the death-repelling shield. 
Their fearless feet they planted on the field, 
And mother earth her noblest children knew 
Content if needs to die, but never yield; 
In touch with her, from her great heart they 

drew 
The strength to stand or fall, the courage to be 

true. 

xxv 

And bravely fought the Duke, in arms renown'd, 
Nor without cause reputed to excel; 
Thrice on that day his charger bit the ground, 
And thrice, dismounted, on the earth he fell. 
The heart within him was a citadel, 
His sword a sceptre waving in the air; 
Strong to command, and strong dispute to quell, 
Yet stronger he to drive away despair, 
And force the meanest soul his iron will to 
share. 

xxvi 

As evening fell an envious arrow wheel'd 
Its circling flight, and dropping overhead, 
Its fatal point in Harold's brow conceaPd, 
And Britain's hope lay low amongst the dead ! 
Yet were the Saxons not discomfited, 
They fought as men who can but fight and die, 
For England still they struggled and they bled, 
And still the Norman warriors they defy, 
Though king and comrades dear around them 
bleeding lie. 

xxvii 

Hard by the standard many a Norman knight 
Found death the guerdon of his day's emprise, 
For fierce and bitter was the closing fight, 
And shouts and blows resounded to the skies. 
Full many a Norman fix'd his straining eyes 
On that proud symbol, dying ere he view'd 
77 



The flag he followed in its place arise, 
And wave its folds above the solitude 
Where Saxon hearts lay still, that broke but never 
sued! 

xxviii 

As now the standard to the ground was borne, 
The sun went down beneath the western sky, 
And stealing slow the moon her silver horn 
Set in the vault to light the passer-by. 
But ever and anon there came a cry 
From wood or glen, as foemen chanced to meet; 
Or some proud Briton turn'd him to defy, 
And pledge the life that was no longer sweet, 
When his dear England lay beneath the Norman's 
feet. 

xxix 

Yet vainly now the brave but scatter 'd bands 

Resistance offer to the crowding foe; 

Though like a rock the weary warrior stands, 

The waves of battle swiftly overflow. 

As big boughs beaten, when the tempests blow, 

Will rage and toss but still their hold retain, 

Till with a crash unto the earth they go, 

So fight the Saxons upon hill and plain, 

Till every heart is still, and none to fight remain. 



XXX 

Some few there were who from the battlefield, 
The combat over, found their lonely way, 
And told, in words that half their grief conceal'd, 
The bloody annals of that awful day. 
And maids and youths, and warriors old and gray, 
Mothers and children, at the hearing wept, 
And said the words that only mourners say; 
Some even ventur'd where the warriors slept, 
In hope to offer aid — and thus their vigil kept! 
78 



So ended Hastings' battle — so the land 
Of Alfred pass'd beneath the Norman power; 
And ye who hear, and hearing understand, 
May guess the meaning of that fateful hour. 
For God is wise, and all events will dower 
With hidden purpose, clear to him alone : 
For him the thunder peals, and falls the shower, 
For him the mighty lives, for him the drone, 
The man who guides the plough, or sits upon the 
throne ! 

canto vin 



The race is won not always by the swift, 

Nor by the strong the battle. There are times 

When the weak arm the mighty can uplift, 

When simple thought ennobles and sublimes, 

And actions, to the narrow black as crimes, 

Within them carry a celestial ray 

(Like some sweet note that through the music 

chimes), 
Which bears them on into a purer day, 
Whose larger, lovelier light shall purge their dross 

away. 

ii 

Upon her palfrey Edith followed close 
The march of him who was at once the king 
Who did her native loyalty engross, 
And all her love within himself enring. 
She cared not much what might the morrow bring, 
So she might travel onward tow'rd the light 
That drew her spirit, like a moth on wing, 
To that which seem'd more exquisitely bright 
Than summer's golden sun, or all the stars of night. 
79 



Ill 

The warrior-bard, good Cedric, wandering lone 
The eve before the battle, at the hour 
When sunset glories o'er the landscape shone, 
Beside a streamlet found this woodland flower. 
Her presence seem'd the sylvan spot to dower 
Witn beauty near to heavenly bliss allied, 
And autumn turn'd into a summer bower: 
But "Dearest heart!" with lifted hands he cried, 
"What chance hath brought thee here? Not 
here may'st thou abide. " 

iv 

"Some Norman straggler will this shrine invade, 
"And pluck and rend thee: I will take thee 

where 
"Thou shalt have more security," he said. 
"I have a kinsman dwelling over there 
"Behind yon hill, and he for thee will care. 
"That he is stout and honest, well I know, 
"But not long since so badly did he fare 
"In struggle with a wolf, he cannot go 
"To wield the warrior's spear, or bend the battle- 
bow." 



Docile she yielded to his kindliness, 

And as they went she told him of her ride 

From the far North; nor failed he to express 

His sweet regard, and that paternal pride 

He felt for her who in the whole world wide 

Was the one treasure that he could not spare, 

After his country's honour. So they hied 

Unto the cottage of his kinsman, where 

Due welcome they received and hospitable care. 

vi 

"And now" quoth Cedric, as the shadows fell, 
"To good king Harold's camp I must away: 
"If in tomorrow's fight he fareth well, 
80 



"Or if — which God forbid! — he lose the day, 
"I charge thee, Edith, in this refuge stay 
"Till I return; or should some ill event 
"My eager footsteps for a while delay, 
"Vex not thy soul with fears, but be content 
"My coming to await, or message duly sent." 
vii 

"Farewell!" she sighed, with that enchanting 

air, 
That swan-like grace which always was her own, 
And won devoted service everywhere, 
For sweet as music was her lightest tone. 
'Tis gracious manners make a woman's throne, 
Which wanting, beauty is itself at best 
A joy that passes, like a rose o'erblown, 
A sunset swallow'd in a stormy west, 
A thing to please the eye, not linger in the breast. 

viii 

To Harold's camp the warrior-bard return'd, 
And in the morrow's battle, where the fight 
Around the standard raged, might be discern'd 
Amidst the brave, who for their country's right 
Withstood the charge of footman and of knight, 
And rained on cap and helmet many a blow; 
Till, as the Normans in their gathering might 
Swept fiercely up the standard to o'erthrow, 
A charger rearing fell, and laid the minstrel low! 

ix 

So stunn'd, and swifter than the tongue can tell 
To earth he went; and others, fighting near, 
Soon all around him and above him fell 
In wreaths of death, like autumn's tresses sere. 
Ah, heavenly God! did men thy love revere, 
Red-handed Carnage would no longer wave 
Her crimson banner; grief no longer rear 
The proud but sad memorials of the brave, 
81 



But Peace her arches build whereon their names 
to grave. 



Waking, amazed a little space he lay, 
As one who, dreaming, is perforce content 
Fantastic thoughts and visions to obey; 
Then slowly rising, on his arm he leant. 
The moon was shining in the firmament, 
And in her train a solitary star 
In modest beauty like a handmaid went: 
It seem'd the queen of night look'd from her car 
Upon the dead, and paused to wonder what they 
are! 



XI 



There, with their faces to the sky upraised, 
The Norman noble and the Saxon thane 
No longer cared who hated or who praised, 
Who won the height, or fled into the plain. 
Once fierce they look'd, but now death's cold 

disdain 
Has sealed the fount of every flashing eye; 
What shouts were theirs who silent now remain, 
Nor frame a single word, nor heave a sigh, 
Nor catch the faintest sound, though hosts were 

marching by ! 



xn 



Slowly he rose, and slowly he retired, 
A lonely figure in the lonelier field; 
It seem'd that all which he that morn desired 
As worthless were as yonder broken shield. 
The wrecks of battle to his heart appealed 
As scenes long past to world-bewilder 'd men; 
He felt as though a century had reel'd 
Across his path : he drew his breath, and then 



The present waved her wand, and claimed her 
own again. 

xiii 

Thereat, with quicken'd step he made his way 
Tow'rd Edith's refuge, trusting all was well, 
Yet grieving much that he had nought to say 
That could the sorrow of her heart dispel. 
He knew not yet what Harold had befel, 
But this he gather'd from the many slain, 
That neither in the village nor the dell 
Could wife or maiden safely now remain: 
And so his pace he urged some surety to attain. 



xiv 



But ere he reached his kinsman's dwelling-place, 
A sudden terror seized him. Rolling red, 
And leaping upward in their fiery race, 
Big billowy flames in growing fury spread. 
A moment's pause — then like a bolt he sped, 
The cottage and its ravage to explore; 
Which as he near'd, he saw the hateful head 
Of Norman soldier in the fire-lit door, 
And straight the javelin hurl'd that in his hand 
he bore! 

xv 

Full in the temple struck the quiv'ring dart, 
And down the ruffian fell, to sin no more: 
Then Cedric rushed, and viewing every part, 
From the sad heap the smoking timbers tore. 
And there he found, extended on the floor, 
Stout Edwin's corse, while many a glimpse he 

caught 
Of household wreck; but mid the heat and roar 
Of ravening flames could he distinguish nought 
To tell him of the fate of her whom chief he 

sought. 

83 



XVI 



Then fell the shadow on his poet's heart, 
The gloom that bringeth ruin unto those 
To whom high heaven never did impart 
The inward strength life's troubles to oppose; 
Who know not how submission to their woes — 
A humble, manly spirit — will renew 
The flower of hope, that blossoms like the rose, 
Though fiends of hell the pilgrim's path pursue, 
And storms the present scourge, and clouds 
obstruct the view. 



xvn 



Upward he look'd — and from behind a cloud 

The gliding moon swept out into the sky: 

"Enough," he murmur'd, as his head he bow'd, 

"I too proceed, and every fate defy; 

"This very moment, as it passes by, 

"Despair or death may carry on its wing!" 

So, sharply turning, fared he forth to try 

With steadfast heart what path his feet might 

bring 
To her, the lovely maid, forlornly wandering. 



xvm 

Not far had he proceeded, when his foot 
By some obstruction caught, his downward eye 
Beheld what made him stand irresolute, 
With fearful hands uplifted to the sky. 
There on the ground he saw before him lie 
A woman's form, near which a boy's was thrown 
Of tender age; and, piteous to descry, 
Great gaping wounds on which the moonlight shone, 
Which drew from Cedric's breast a soul-depressing 
groan. 

84 



XIX 

He stoop 'd, and lo, 't was Edwin's wife and son! 
But though, with feverish haste, he search'd the 

spot 
For vestige of another, dearer one, 
Sadly — but gladly too — he found it not. 
But where she was, or what had been her lot, 
He vainly question'd : so he took again 
With sorrowing heart his way, nor yet forgot 
To cover o'er the bodies of the slain : 
Nor more could he attempt, nor by their side re- 
main. 



xx 



Weary, and worn, bleeding and opprest, 
He stumbled bravely onwards, scorning still 
The cry within importunate for rest, 
Which yet at last o'ercame his stubborn will. 
His faithful feet no longer could fulfil 
The task he set them; slowly o'er his eyes 
The sleep-mists gather; slowly vale and hill 
Grow ever dim around him, till he lies 
Outstretch'd, as one who ne'er shall from his 
couch arise. 



xxi 



Sleep! the readiest comforter and best 
That toilful man can summon, to control 
The waves that beat about his troubled breast, 
The bells of grief, whose melancholy toll 
Makes life a burthen with its doleful knoll, 
And even death's dark visage renders mild; 
How sweet thou art unto the weary soul 
That in thine arms thou takest, like a child 
That shrinks from lightning flash and tempest 
roaring wild. 

85 



XX11 

Sleep, weary Cedric! be thy slumber sound; 
For Edith, rescued, in the gentle care 
Of holy nuns a refuge safe has found, 
And breathes at last a fear-uncumber'd air. 
Sleep, noble heart! that never brook'd despair; 
Not yet upon the battlefield of life 
Hast thou surrender 'd; thou hast still thy share 
Amidst the woe, the triumph, and the strife, 
With which the changeful lot of mortal man is 
rife. 

xxiii 

Three ruffian losels from the Norman line 
Had stolen forth on pillaging intent, 
Wherever chance might aid their fell design, 
Or brutish force a readier way present. 
The roar of battle reach'd them as they went, 
And laugh'd to think they had escaped the fight; 
And rude and savage was their merriment, 
And coarse the speech they utter'd, such as 

might 
Have shamed the basest groom that ever followed 

knight. 

xxiv 

Edwin returning, at his cottage door, 
With gather'd fagots for their evening fire, 
A blow received that fell'd him to the floor — 
And death had claimed the hospitable sire ! 
With terror struck at this misfortune dire, 
Into the night the frighten'd women fled, 
And with the speed such panic can inspire, 
Like deer swift-footed to the forest sped; 
Two caitiffs following close upon the way they 
led. 

XXV 

The third remain'd to plunder, but he found 
Little to pay him for his murderous zeal; 
86 



In wanton spite he flung the fagots round, 
And sparks flew fast, and flames began to reel 
And dance like fiends, and all their rage reveal. 
Then, as they threaten him who gave them rein, 
He deem'd it safer from the spot to steal; 
But scarce did he the outward air regain, 
Ere Cedric's ready shaft had pierced his coward 
brain. 

xxvi 

Meantime the women, hamper 'd with the child, 
Their pace began to slacken, till their ear 
Caught hurried steps and mutterings deep and 

wild, 
And then too well knew all they had to fear. 
Swifter the footsteps fall, till drawing near 
The caitiff two, with naked daggers run 
To seize their prey, and in their faces leer: 
To save from fiendish outrage there is none — 
The helpless women shriek, and deem themselves 

undone ! 

xxvii 

But God is good, who in the heaven doth dwell; 

For he who rushed at Edith, on the way 

O'er a great root tript heavily, and fell, 

Nor did he rise, but moaning sorely lay. 

Transfix'd she stood — 'twas agony to stay, 

Yet could she leave the goodwife and her boy? 

The mother sought to keep the brute at bay, 

And much her cries the ruffians did annoy, 

Lest any passer-by their vantage should destroy. 

xxviii 

Then said the moaning scoundrel to his mate, 
"Stop thou the shrieks of yonder yelling dame, 
"Or, by Saint Denys, death will be our fate — 
"This cursed root hath left me sorely lame!" 

87 



At this a mist before the maiden came; 
She fainted not, but in a trance of dread 
She stood, till waking, with a sense of shame, 
The moonlight shewed a dagger dripping red — 
And Edwin's wife and boy before her face lay 
dead! 



She sprang, as leaps the wild goat from the rock, 
Or arrow loosed from tightly-drawn bow, 
Or eagle on some straggler from the flock: 
Yet as she ran she breathed a prayer — and lo! 
As if high heaven answer did bestow, 
Her palfrey stood across the forest lane! 
A moment's pause a backward glance to throw, 
A moment's lapse her wonted seat to gain, 
And then for life she rode, with halter-rope for 
rein. 



On, on she gallop'd, little heeding where, 
Death grinn'd behind her, life before her smiled; 
Sweet was the fragrance of the rushing air, 
And every bound her fainting soul beguiled 
From that dark scene, and that encounter wild. 
So, swiftly onward like a dream she fled, 
And like a mother singing to her child 
Seem'd all the starry waste above her head; 
And with such heavenly thoughts her heart she 
comforted. 

xxxi 

But suddenly amidst a warlike band 
The palfrey halted, throwing high his crest; 
One on his muzzle laid restraining hand, 
But to his rider Saxon words addrest. 
Then broke the hidden fountain in her breast, 
And tears welled up into her thankful eye, 
88 



And all the anguish of that night's unrest 
Poured from her soul in one luxurious sigh; 
For she had safety won, and friends were standing 

by. 

xxxii 

Anon they took their way to Hastings town, 
And as they fared, with keen but manly pain 
They told how Saxons overwhelm 'd went down; 
But when she heard that Harold too was slain, 
Scarce could the maid her agony contain; 
For all the world seem'd shadow as she rode, 
And all life's promise one delusion vain. 
So, sadly gracious, though with grief o'erflow'd, 
They left her where the nuns maintain'd their 
chaste abode. 

xxxiii 

As when the sunlit waters, proudly curl'd, 

Within the frowning shadows of a cave 

Are rudely swept, and, round their prison whirl'd, 

In blinding darkness desperately rave, 

Till stunn'd and batter 'd, broken wave on wave, 

They ebb again into the golden deep; 

So come the thoughts that brighten or enslave 

Our human hearts, and back and forth they 

sweep, 
Nor ever constant stay in man's sad bosom keep. 



CANTO IX 

i 

How fair is age! How beautiful the lines 
The artist Time engraves upon the face 
Of those whom life's vicissitude refines, 
And lightly touches with serener grace! 
There passion leaves no signature; no trace 



Of evil thought disfigurement bestows; 
Though sorrow there may find admitted place, 
How soft a veil o'er all the scene she throws; 
What peace and sweet discharge from transitory 
woes! 



The day was past, the battle fought, the night 
Through all her silvery hours ebb'd away, 
And morn return'd with her replenish'd light, 
To mark again the Christian's hallowed day. 
But when the Norman muster 'd his array, 
A third lay dead or dying on the field, 
With shatter 'd armour, faces cold and gray, 
Reproachful wounds, and lips forever seal'd, 
And hands that nevermore might warrior's weapon 
wield. 

iii 

So fierce the looks the ruthless Normans bend 
On any wandering o'er the scene of woe, 
Few Saxons ventur'd forth their dead to tend, 
Or save, perchance, some heart that flutter 'd low. 
Along the borders of the field they go, 
With mournful eyes that satisfaction crave; 
Yet few the tears adown their cheeks that flow, 
For British hearts are number'd with the brave, 
And well can they endure what others would 
enslave. 

iv 

Long lay the body of the English king 
Unfound, unsought, uncared-for where he fell: 
The thanes, unwilling on their heads to bring 
The Norman's sneer, that pierced like tongues 

of hell, 
The keener now that they could not repel, 
At last to Harold's mother suit prefer 
90 



In gentle tone, that if she deem it well, 
She should herself approach the conqueror, 
Who might to them be deaf, but surely not to her! 



The mother heard, and in the mother's heart 

A thousand memories of the past began 

With one consent approval to impart, 

And urge the simple wisdom of their plan. 

The Norman duke, they pleaded, was but man, 

A woman's arms his cradle once had made, 

And in his veins a woman's life-blood ran; 

Was she, the mother of a king, afraid 

For such a boon to ask? She ponder 'd and obey'd. 

vi 

The surly Norman, scowling in his seat, 
Fixed on the noble Dame his angry eye: 
Calm was her mien, and soft, though clear and 

sweet, 
The voice that spake, and waited a reply. 
To her request, to grant or to deny, 
He deigned no answer, but with stormy brow 
And mutter 'd oath he put the question by. 
The body's weight in gold, she offers now, 
Would he consent her just petition to allow. 

vii 

"His only sepulchre," the Norman said, 
"Shall be the yellow sand upon the shore!" 
The Lady Gytha lifted high her head, 
And turn'd away, nor word she utter 'd more 
Her rude inhuman auditor before; 
Nor sign of grief display 'd, nor yet defied, 
But cross 'd the hall, and pass'd beyond the door. 
Yet, home regain'd, the heavy tear-drops slide 
From lids that scorn'd to weep when brutal power 
denied. 

91 



Vlll 

But, ere the sun went down beneath the waves, 

There came a special messenger, to say 

The Norman duke would grant the boon she 

craves, 
And where she would she might the body lay. 
With nothing now her eagerness to stay, 
Her steward and servants to the thanes she sent, 
To search the field and bring her dead away; 
And haste she urged, lest some untow'rd event 
Their errand might obstruct, or evil hap prevent. 



IX 

Forth to their sad but grateful task they speed, 
And search the spot where Britain's standard fell, 
And round and round upon the blood-stain 'd 

mead 
They stoop, and look for him they knew so well. 
The lighted torches their intention tell, 
And now they kneel, and now again they rise; 
On face and form the patient moonbeams dwell, 
And the red torch its flaring aid supplies, 
But all in vain they seek the king to recognise ! 



When Cedric, waking from his weary sleep, 
The sun-god seated in the sky beheld, 
With heavy heart he blamed his slumbers deep 
That had such waste of precious hours com- 

pell'd. 
But the strong soul, that had from youth to eld 
His footsteps steadied on life's changeful way, 
Now in his breast grief's sad forebodings quell'd, 
And summon'd purpose to defeat dismay, 
And chase the fitful dreams that round in ambush 

lay. 

92 



XI 



There is a time to every thing below — 
A time to gather and a time to waste, 
A time for action when the trumpets blow, 
A time to ponder and a time to haste, 
A time that, used not, we are left disgraced, 
A time that, used, is pregnant with renown, 
A time to hunger and a time to taste, 
A time to build, a time to batter down: 
And who these seasons know are worthy wisdom's 
crown! 



xn 



So, in the mirror of his waking soul, 
He quickly saw whereto his way should bend, 
Nor idly let the golden moments roll, 
Nor paused for chance his purpose to befriend. 
To Hastings town his ready footsteps wend, 
And many there of dauntless Harold's fate, 
Of Edith's happy rescue, and the end 
Of that unfruitful search the tale relate; 
Till, learning all, he stands before the convent 
gate. 



xm 



He greeted Edith with paternal air 
And kindly words, and look'd into her face, 
And saw her sorrow plainly written there, 
Though softly veil'd with her abiding grace. 
Upon her cheek a tear had left its trace, 
And in the murmurous music of her tongue 
A gentle quiver now had found a place, 
As when some distant note, the hills among, 
Far down the grassy slopes to traveller's ear is 
flung. 

93 



XIV 

"And are there none," the maiden sighed for- 
lorn, 
"Who knew the king, and saw his flashing eye 
"And manly port, and presence like the morn, 
"To know him now that he doth lowly lie? 
" O Cedric ! take me to the field, and I 
"Will quickly find him." Cedric heard and 

said, 
"Dear heart! all woman's weakness to defy 
"Thou art ordain'd, and on thy gentle head 
"The God whose name is love his benison has 
shed!" 

xv 

From Waltham's abbey had been sent express 
Two monks to learn the fortune of the day, 
To shrive the wounded and the dying bless, 
And give what comfort and what care they may. 
These to the convent now had found their way, 
A message from their abbot to present; 
But, audience granted, would no longer stay 
Than for an hour in refreshment spent, 
Still on their kindly work and ministry intent. 

xvi 

Within the guest-house soon the twain began 
To question Cedric, as they sat at board; 
And chief on Harold's fate their queries ran, 
For he their ancient abbey had restored. 
With grief unfeigned they his death deplored, 
But wonder'd much that none his corse could find, 
And offer 'd straight what help they could afford, 
Deeming that any searcher was but blind 
Who could not Harold's frame and features call 
to mind. 

xvii 

And Cedric sadly smiled, for well he knew 
What change may happen after mortal breath, 
94 



How hard ofttimes, when battle's wreck we view, 

To find the dearest in that shower of death. 

All flesh is grass, the sacred poet saith, 

But even grasses easier are discern 'd, 

When o'er the mower's path one wandereth, 

Than aught that of the slain can be learn'd — 

That harvest of the grave, not yet to dust return'd. 

xviii 

And so it happen'd that the monks, untaught 
In war's grim ways, moved on from place to 

place, 
And blue-ey'd Edith for her loved one sought, 
But sought in vain o'er many a piteous space. 
Her comely figure had an angel grace, 
And her sweet gaze so magically fell 
Upon the features of each silent face, 
It seem'd almost the lips might part, to tell 
If there at last reposed the form she loved so 

well. 

xix 

From underneath a mountain of the dead 
They drew a mighty warrior. "That is he!" 
The maiden quick to her companions said, 
And laid him gently on her bended knee. 
And when they mused if that could Harold be, 
For love alone with sureness can endow, 
Her lifted hand made answer — and they see 
The broken arrow in the kingly brow, 
And by this sign convinced their credence they 
avow. 



The monks remain to guard the precious dead, 
And vigil keep with many a murmur 'd prayer, 
While Cedric back unto the convent led 
His lovely charge, and now his chiefest care. 
Then, as the morning smiled along the air, 



And waking birds from boughs and sheltering 

eaves 
Made cheery welcome with their pipings rare, 
He, with a soul such artless song relieves, 
Turns tow'rd the lonely home where Gytha sits 

and grieves. 

xxi 

Not Harold only, but his brothers dear, 
Stout Gurth and Leofwin who beside him fought, 
Right royal spirits, valiant and sincere, 
Death's solemn sadness to her soul had brought. 
The mother wept, yet even weeping thought 
How proud in battle stood the gallant three, 
How proud they fell, nor gave their lives for 

nought, 
For firm she trusted Britain yet should see 
Her shore from every foe and rude invader free. 

xxii 

This noble Lady, daughter of the Dane, 

Was more than lovely, she was wise and good, 

And in her sorrow could her heart sustain 

With heavenly calm, by all not understood. 

She might by all be pitied, if she would, 

But to be pitied never could she bear; 

Nor vain conceit she knew, nor frantic mood; 

And nought could change her; ever sweet and 

fair, 
She seem'd a flower of light in this world's troubled 

air. 

xxiii 

Then, order taken for the funeral train, 
And Cedric rested, and his wants supplied, 
The Lady called him to her bower again, 
And many questions asked, while he replied. 
And as she listen 'd oftentimes she sigh'd, 
And silvery tears along her patient cheek 
96 



Stole slowly down like dew-drops; but she cried 
As one who scorn'd to be accounted weak, 
And even in her woe would ever calmly speak. 

xxiv 

Lady Gytha ! thou hast found the key, 
That still to human hearts unlocks the door 
Which leads into that land of mystery, 
Where all that is not yet is held in store. 
Men may look backward, but to look before 
Takes keener vision, and a holier calm 
Than sleeps at summer's sunset on the shore; 
Where'er it dwells this spirit bears the palm, 
And finds for life a guide, for every wound a balm. 

xxv 

"Take thou, " she said, "the harp by yonder door, 
"And sing of one who died — but not mine own: 
"For those brave hearts would I could weep no 

more! 
"Sing thou of Urien's death, when sad and lone 
"By his friend's hearth Euryddiel turn'd to 

moan. " 
With kindly haste the warrior-bard obey'd, 
And voice and harp were but one mingled tone, 
As on the throbbing strings his hand he laid, 
And full the wailing chords their lamentation 

made. 

xxvi 

1 bear a head from the mountains, 
And the face is cold and white ; 

Under stones and earth o'erwhelm'd 

The body will lie tonight. 
Where now is my friend and chieftain? 

Euryddiel's joy is o'er; 
And who is there for me to praise, 

Now Urien is no more? 
97 



The hall is a heap of ruins, 

And the floor is a lonely place, 
Where hound and hawk without number 

Were train'd for the joyful chase. 
Now weeds and nettles will flourish 

On the hearth that plenty bore; 
And who is there left for me to praise, 

Now Urien is no more? 

Here once the warriors shouted, 

And the mead-cups lifted high, 
But the green of decay will cover, 

And the thorn grow rankly by: 
The deer in the cauldron seething 

Is gone with the hero's store; 
And who is there left for me to praise, 

Now Urien is no more? 

And the clanking sword is silent, 

And the gleemen make no sound, 
Where the torches once were blazing, 

And the drinking-horn went round; 
Where the hero dwelt and feasted, 

And the needy's quest was o'er, 
The swine will root, and the black ants swarm, 

Now Urien is no more ! 



xxvu 

So came sweet Fancy to the aid of Grief; 
And that eternal sympathy which fills 
The ampler soul, gave token of relief 
From present anguish and surrounding ills. 
Dear heavenly God! had we but perfect wills 
To follow thee whatever may betide, 
Our rushing sorrows would be quiet rills, 
Each rugged path a highway smooth and wide, 
And songs that nourish peace, on earth be mul- 
tiplied ! 



Canto X 



Into the shadows every day departs, 
Into the shadows every life retires; 
The days return not, nor the baffled hearts, 
And clods lie heavy on the soul's desires. 
But other days rebuild the wonted fires, 
And other hearts the deathless aim pursue, 
Till the faint germ unfainting life acquires, 
And blows and blushes in perfection true, 
With power its roots to spread, its blossoms to 
renew. 



It boots not now to tell of Harold's grave, 
Or how the sad procession wound its way 
From Hastings' bloody field to where the brave 
Surrender'd was unto his parent clay. 
In Waltham's abbey his remains they lay, 
And holy rites are reverently done, 
And mourners sadly go, or sadly stay 
To muse awhile the larger life begun 
Beyond the stars of night, beyond the farthest 
sun. 



in 



The silent tears the many shed that day 
For Harold made a royal epitaph; 
The modest matron and the maiden gay, 
And aged manhood leaning on its staff, 
The ruddy youth, the child that hush'd its laugh 
For that it knew its kingly friend lay cold — 
Here was true grief, that shew'd like empty chaff 
The dim black plumes and waving pomp of gold, 
That oft the dead unloved in loveless state enfold. 
99 



IV 

Brief was his reign, heroic was his end : 

He lived for England, and for her he died, 

Nor grudged at all his life-blood to expend 

For that dear land, whose welfare was his pride. 

His noble presence, tall and dignified, 

Match'd well the gracious manners that he wore, 

And won him honest love on every side; 

His bounding heart was British to the core, 

And never worthier knight came after or before! 



And Cedric stood, and look'd into the grave: 
But his great heart; even in that mournful hour, 
Could rise above the shadows that enslave, 
The nerveless griefs that manhood's strength 

devour. 
A dauntless hope had ever been his dower, 
And never tenderer hand to pluck away 
The bitter darts misfortune loves to shower, 
The feeble to protect, the weak to stay, 
Or shed on thorny path a sympathetic ray. 

vi 

In him impetuous youth no longer tried 

To trip the steps of reason : he could see 

How closely ruin follows wasteful pride, 

How passion oft is valour's enemy. 

A war of chance the world could never be 

In his esteem, for still his poet's soul 

Found order hidden in obscurity, 

Could hear hope singing while the thunders roll, 

Nor lose in darkest night the compass of control. 



vn 



So, as he left the grave wherein reposed 
The last of Saxon kings, not yet to him 
Had England's story or her grandeur closed, 
100 



Though for the moment all around grew dim. 
He look'd beyond the present, dark and grim, 
And in the mirror of the future saw 
The race he loved once more its beacon trim, 
And to its feet the wondering nations draw, 
To learn how freedom rules, and license bends to 
law. 

viii 

Thus, as his war-horse, with its measur'd tread, 

He rein'd again at Lady Gytha's door, 

That he might tell her of her cherish 'd dead, 

Now laid to rest, his mortal mission o'er, 

Not shadow only on his face he wore, 

But mingled with it a pervading gleam, 

Like that which steals, when tempest is no more, 

O'er porch and pillar, meadowland and stream, 

To smile away the storm, and all its spurns redeem. 



IX 

The lovely lady, with her snow-white hair, 
Her tender cheek and spirit-speaking eye, 
Her chisell'd mouth and fingers long and fair, 
Her welcome offer'd as the bard drew nigh. 
And long she listen'd, without tear or sigh, 
Serene and speechless, to the tale he told; 
So one, when some procession passes by, 
Full well discerns the progress it must hold, 
However hearts may heave, or thoughts their 
woes unfold. 



He spake of Harold whom he loved — and then 
His voice grew sweeter, and his eye more bright, 
For him he held amongst the first of men, 
Of England's noblest sons the bravest knight. 
He praised the mingled gentleness and might 
That made the glory of his manly grace, 
101 



The beauty of his presence, and the light 
Of inward purpose that adorn'd his face, 
Nor any time to come his memory should displace. 

xi 

Of Gurth and Leofwin Cedric told — how they, 
Amidst the death-blows round about them hurl'd, 
Stood up, as only dauntless spirits may, 
For freedom's royal right against the world; 
How, as the tide of battle roll'd and swirPd, 
And friend and foe in gory heaps reclined, 
They fought by Harold, while the flag unfurl'd 
Streamed out in folds defiant on the wind, 
Nor ever thought of self unnerv'd their steadfast 
mind. 

xii 

The grateful mother left them to the care 

Of kindly hands that did their duty well; 

And Britain's sons no nobler grave could share 

Than where for Britain's sake they fought and 

feU. 
O'er them the sun shall smile, the grain shall 

swell, 
The waving grass salute the summer sky, 
The rain-drops patter, and the wild winds yell, 
And soft and white the gathering snowflakes fly, 
And all the varied year pass unforgetting by. 

xiii 

The swan-neck'd Beauty in the convent sate, 
With folded hands and lovely head bowed low, 
And joyless eyes and heart disconsolate, 
As one who knew not how to meet her woe. 
'Tis kindly done by pitying Heaven, I trow, 
When present cares on human griefs intrude, 
Lest sorrow's bitter cup should overflow, 
102 



And lone despair and fell disquietude 
Make all that life has left a desolation rude. 



xiv 



She felt like one who in some desert isle 

Is cast away, a homeless denizen, 

With nothing near his sadness to beguile, 

Nor any shelter save some savage den : 

His heart goes yearning for the voice of men, 

His grief too deep in tears to overflow, 

The world a barren wilderness — and then, 

As if to bid her welcome, sweet and low 

She heard in holy chant the solemn organ blow! 



xv 



The hour of prayer! From out the shadows dim 

It drew her gently back into the light, 

That like a pathway leadeth up to Him. 

Who sits serene above our mortal night: 

And He it is who loveth to requite 

The upward glance of self -renouncing eye; 

And His the sword that still delays to smite, 

And waits on mercy, though uplifted high, 

When lowly sorrow breathes her penitential sigh. 

xvi 

Thus led, into the convent she had sought 

To gain admittance on that very day; 

But Cedric turn'd the current of her thought, 

And drew her grateful soul another way. 

" Dear heart ! " he said, " 'tis well that thou shouldst 

6 pray ' 

"And God, I trust, will hear thee, whatsoe'er 

"On bended knee thou dost before Him lay; 

"But happy should I be if thou couldst care 

"As my adopted child my humble home to share ! " 

103 



XV11 



As one who lost in some deep mine's recess, 
Where double darkness dominates the gloom, 
Lacks words of joy his gladness to express, 
When sudden daylight peeps into his tomb, 
Her radiant silence did her face illume, 
And every tender curve upon her cheek 
Flash'd rays of beauty round the frugal room: 
To him who gazed she needed not to speak, 
A seraph angel's tongue had made the answer 
weak! 



xvm 

» 

The dearest friend in all the world was he, 

A noble, honest, sympathetic soul, 

Who, fearing nought, would/ all dishonor flee, 

Who, born to lead, could still himself control; 

His thoughts like flowers in a crystal bowl, 

His dreams like lilies on a silver mere, 

His deeds like ocean when the billows roll, 

His kindly words like morning dew-drops clear; 

In all he did or deem'd unselfish and sincere. 



xix 



Then wait thou here" he said, "Till I shall find 
A spot retired, where our days may glide 
In works of peace, and quietude of mind, 
Apart from restless folly and her pride; 
Some woodland scene, some site where vistas 

wide 

Shall broaden out, and keep the heart in tune 
With God, and man upon his nobler side, 
And yield us still, at midnight as at noon, 
That tranquil sweet content, of life the loveliest 

boon." 

104 



XX 

It chanced that Cedric, ever kind and good 
To sorrowing souls, a daily visit paid 
To Lady Gytha in her solitude; 
And she, whose grief his soothing words allay'd, 
Now ponder'd much how best to offer aid, 
For well she guess'd his generous hand had won 
But little wealth, and scant provision made 
For days of failing strength, when work is done, 
And age should calmly rest beneath life's setting 
sun. 



xxi 



Then, with that fine inimitable grace, 
Which only noble spirits can display, 
She turn'd to him her sweet expressive face, 
As from his seat he rose, farewell to say. 
"Kind friend and true! a moment more, I pray: 
"For all the goodness thou hast shew'd to me 
"I can not thank thee, struggle as I may; 
"But think how lonely my sad life will be, 
"When through the weary days no more thy face 
I see." 



xxn 



"Couldst thou not make my home thy dwelling- 
place, 
"And come and go, yet still thy presence lend, 
"An honour'd guest, in whom my people trace 
"A benefactor only and a friend? 
"To thee this hand I evermore extend 
"In ceaseless welcome: whatsoe'er is mine 
"Is thine to use, to occupy, to spend; 
"For with my Harold's memory I twine 
"Thy faithful name; he knew no truer heart than 
thine!" 

105 



XX1U 

In simple words that shew'd themselves sincere, 
In speech that made his declination sweet, 
He told her how he did herself revere, 
And laid his future service at her feet. 
But he a special duty had to meet, 
A home for his adopted child to find, 
A quiet refuge, a secure retreat; 
Yet ever precious to his grateful mind 
Her friendly thoughts would be, and their ex- 
pression kind. 



xxiv 

To him at once the noble Dame replies, 
With eager haste her purpose to reveal, 
"I go to Waltham, where my Harold lies, 
"For him to pray, and for my country's weal: 
"But near my home, in woodlands that conceal 
"From public view, a cottage I possess; 
"It shall be thine — and if at times I steal 
"To share a little in thy happiness, 
" Wilt thou the deed forgive, nor love thy friend 
the less?" 



Refuse he dare not, lest her heart should break, 
For tears were gathering in her kindly eyes, 
And so for her, and for his daughter's sake, 
His heart consented to accept the prize. 
For such it was. Upon a gentle rise, 
By woodlands flank'd that hid the public way, 
The cottage stood beneath the spreading skies, 
And look'd abroad where unobstructed lay 
The wide champaign, that smiled as smile it 
only may. 

106 



XXVI 

And so when Spring return'd, with tunic gay 
Of leaves, and bursting buds, and early flowers, 
And white-hair'd Winter in his robe of gray 
Had made his parting farewell to the Hours; 
When April, laughing through his sunny showers, 
Led May and June with all their choice delights, 
Then Edith wander 'd mid the garden bowers, 
To which the happy Flora those invites 
Who love the golden days and silver-mantled 
nights. 

xxvii 

And oft she loved in some retired glade 
To hear the birds their artless ditties pour, 
And watch the shadows of the leaves, that made 
A silent music on the woodland floor; 
And then, perchance, her heart grew sad and sore, 
And to her lips some mournful lay would steal, 
And she would chant the measure o'er and o'er, 
Or give it words, whose meaning might reveal 
A part of what she thought, or thinking not could 
feel. 

xxviii 

My earthly house is dull and cold, 
And clouds have veil'd the heavenly blue, 
And mountains dark the scene enfold, 
And oh, my heart is weary too! 

My friends are lying in the ground, 
The grave guards all I loved to keep, 
And I unto the grave am bound 
With them I loved at last to sleep. 

I sit through all the summer day 
Beneath the oak that shades my cave, 
I sit and weep the hours away, 
107 



The hours that part me from the grave. 

The exile's path through trouble lies, 
I rest not in this cave of care; 
A weary heart and weeping eyes 
Have been through life my only share. 

xxix 

The Lady Gytha, to her promise true, 
Full many a visit to the cottage paid, 
And so from Cedric, not averse, she drew 
The moving story of the gentle maid. 
And then her lips her kindly thought obey'd, 
And speech so sweet her sympathy exprest, 
That soon her young companion had betray 'd 
Her heart of hearts. So, flutt'ring, seeks its nest 
The bird from hawk escaped, to hide itself and 
rest. 



'Tis ever souls that consolation need 
That kindest are to other souls forlorn; 
For others' woes their sorrows intercede, 
For others' griefs their sympathy is born; 
Their fears they flout not, nor their crying scorn, 
A touch of godlike charity is theirs; 
They breathe the exhalations of the morn, 
They find a balm to heal their own despairs, 
And fields of fiery pain are cool'd with heavenly 
airs. 



In gentle art some hours the ladies spend, 
The skilful needle tracing fair designs 
As gifts for altar, for themselves, or friend; 
And with these figur'd forms and woven lines 
How many a dream its tender thought entwines! 
How many a shadow softly melts away, 
108 



While birds seem singing in the pictur'd vines, 
And angel faces, fresh from heavenly day, 
With shining eyes regard their fingers' dainty 
play! 

xxxii 

And oft they wander in the garden bowers, 

To breathe the airs their fragrant alleys fill, 

Or tend with kindly hand the graceful flowers, 

The blushing rose or yellow daffodil, 

The red carnation or the fair jonquil, 

The violet shy, the lily tall and pale, 

The blue-bell, lover of the sun-clad hill — 

Or watch the spreading honeysuckle's trail, 

Or that delicious sweet, the lily of the vale. 



m 

Earl Godwin's widow had been richly dower 'd, 
And many hinds did her behests obey, 
Nor conquest's greedy maw had all devour 'd 
The spreading lands that recognised her sway. 
She could not guess, nor knew for many a day, 
The hidden kindness that the Norman shew'd 
To her who wholly at his mercy lay; 
Nor could she dream that in the man who strode 
Unmov'd through blood and death one tender 
thought abode! 

xxxiv 

Yet in this stern, indomitable soul 
There dwelt imprison'd a diviner strain; 
The statesman's wisdom had its due control, 
Nor did he love to see another's pain. 
'Tis true, his settled purpose to attain 
He would not swerve though all the world defied; 
But that accomplish'd, neither lust nor gain 
From justice' road could turn his feet aside, 
109 



Though still his outward self his inward self belied 



Rebel or baron fell before his hand, 
And order grew beneath his trenchant sway, 
Good peace he made within our English land, 
And men in safety went upon their way. 
Silent and fierce, none dared to say him nay; 
He smote like Thor, yet gentle as a child 
To Anselm's voice his soul he would bewray, 
And when he spake the gloomy monarch smiled, 
For such as loved their God still found him calm 
and mild! 

xxxvi 

Great soul he was, yet never learn'd to bend 

With kindly ease, or wreathe a bare behest 

With grace that turn'd the follower into friend, 

And urged devotion's service to its best. 

The grandeur hidden in his lonely breast 

Like muffled thunder groan 'd upon his tongue, 

And few there were beheld him manifest; 

Yet what he wrought, and from his deeds has 

sprung, 
Right noble was to do, right worthy to be sung! 

xxxvii 

To Cedric now the hour of peace appears; 
In blameless leisure seated, he may look 
Backwards and forwards through the echoing 

years, 
And pages turn in life's mysterious book. 
From his great soul the clinging hopes he shook 
Of fond ambitions, based on present gains, 
And in their stead on fearless wing he took 
That nobler flight which to the few remains, 
Who know where Thought is found and Inspira- 
tion reigns ! 

110 



XXXV111 

When all the buzzing tumults of the day, 

Its eager clamours, interruptions rude, 

Its graceless words and deeds, have died away, 

How precious dear is gentle solitude ! 

Then finds the weary soul its strength renew'd, 

Then mounts the soaring spirit where the quires 

Of sweet angelic thought sing interlude, 

And, breathing airs of paradise, retires 

From every low-born joy, and all unmeet desires. 

xxxix 

To sit and dream is still the poet's bliss, 
He is the herald of the days unborn, 
Nor any idle occupation his, 
Nor one that calls for faintest touch of scorn. 
From many a wound he draws the aching thorn, 
He sees the fight behind the frowning cloud, 
The joy that travels tow'rd the heart forlorn, 
And hears the music, sweet but never loud, 
The heavenly voice that sings unheard amid the 
crowd ! 

xl 

And rising upward on the wings that bear 
The sons of men into the larger space, 
He finds the regions that are ever fair, 
Unsoil'd by crime, unshadow'd by disgrace. 
And yet not there he makes his dwelling-place; 
Awhile he tarries, but again retires 
To join his fellows in the strenuous race, 
To lift the lowly, aid the high desires, 
Protect the purest thoughts, and feed the holiest 
fires. 

xli 

Down through the long procession of the years 
His dreamful eyes a thousand scenes behold, 
111 



Dim in their silent vastness like the spheres, 
Yet swiftly flashing with effulgent gold. 
Here, in what mists heroic forms are roll'd! 
There, in what shadows wondrous thoughts abide ! 
In yonder gloom inventions manifold! 
While, like the ceaseless murmur of the tide, 
A long triumphal sound is breathing far and wide ! 

xlii 

'Tis true, he hears no sweet-tongued Chaucer sing, 
No Spenser chanting his melodious lay, 
Nor Shakespeare's world-wide diapason ring, 
Nor Milton's hand his organ-music play: 
Yet from the shadowy distance, far away, 
Low strains are wafted to his musing ear, 
And fancy listens, as her footsteps stray 
Through vistas green, by fount and river clear, 
Where lone knight-errant rides, and faery forms 
appear. 

xllii 

So, many a magic wonder-dream he weaves, 
Which Folly flouts; but more divinely blest, 
Self -poised Imagination half believes, 
And, even doubting, is but half confest: 
A land beyond the waters of the West; 
A British Queen, with nations at her knees; 
A power to calm and cure the world's unrest; 
An eye to read life's deepest mysteries; 
And winged words to sweep like spirits o'er the 
seas! 

xliv 

Thus dream'd the aged Cedric, undismay'd, 
With eye undimm'd, and senses all complete; 
Not yet inapt to draw the warrior's blade, 
More fit was he for meditation's seat. 
Of ancient days much lore he could repeat, 
112 



But chief he mused on human love's increase, 
When men in loyal brotherhood should meet, 
Diverse, yet one in all that makes for peace, 
To conquer selfish aims, and baneful bonds 
release. 



xlv 



His fair companions, drawing ever nigher, 
Grew friends indeed; while Cedric's mutual care 
Was prompt to soothe their sorrows, and inspire 
With words as cheerful as the morning air. 
He gave them larger outlook; bade them share 
The noblest thoughts that from his visions sprang 
And of the days foreshadow'd made aware, 
As, deftly touch'd, the chords resounding rang, 
And full, and rich, and clear, such strains as this he 
sang: 



xlvi 

There may be lands, as travellers*tell, 
Where Summer never bids farewell, 
Where shining days and starry nights 
In splendour every clime excel: 
With these are many choice delights 
That sense may stir, but spirit quell; 
But Britain boasts a nobler aim, 
Her manhood's crown is her abiding fame ! 

I hear again the trumpets call, 
The warriors haste from hut and hall, 
The cymbals clash, the drums are beat, 
They go to conquer or to fall. 
Not theirs the coward's nerveless feet 
That tremble at the rampart's wall; 
They have no fear but fear of shame, 
And manhood's crown is their abiding fame! 
113 



I hear the winds their summons blow, 
I see the billows ebb and flow, 
And ships along the bounding waves 
In order'd squadrons come and go: 
No paltry love of life enslaves, 
No care for self these heroes know; 
No sordid hists their hearts inflame, 
Their manhood's crown is their abiding fame ! 

And over oceans far and wide 
They drive their keels through every tide, 
And plant their flag, that men may learn 
That freedom is to sloth denied: 
And evermore their souls discern 
That duty done is manhood's pride; 
They win the goal, they take the blame, 
And manhood's crown is their abiding fame! 

So, island rule to empire grows, 
The bud has blossom'd in the rose, 
And round the throbbing world is heard 
The march of men who love their foes ; 
Who, howsoever they have err'd, 
In wise results their worth disclose, 
And prove that worth no empty name, 
For manhood's crown is their abiding fame! 

xlvii 

The Norman Chieftain wrought his sovereign will, 
With wisdom suited to the hour and place; 
The Saxons gave him fealty, but still 
Their sturdy manhood nothing could efface, 
Their proud submission never brook'd disgrace; 
For coward deed no glitter could atone; 
As Harold saved the honour of his race, 
The nation's heart remain'd the nation's own, 
And Norman builded high what Norman had 
o'erthrown ! 

114 



L'ENVOI 



And now this Song into the world may go: 
The singer loved his country first, and then, 
Intent to find whence all perfections flow, 
Look'd up to God, and loved his fellow-men. 
So, mid the changes wrought by sword or pen, 
The many chances seeming all unmeet, 
True world's-men win an ever-widening ken, 
That views the broken circle all complete, 
And walk the starry heights with firm, unfetter'd 
feet. 

What boots the conquest of a thousand realms, 
If man himself be but a servile thing, 
Whom outward pomp or inward greed o'erwhelms, 
Who heeds no call from luxury's couch to spring? 
To such it were but idle toil to sing, 
But nobler souls a grander vision know; 
They seek the day that coming years shall bring, 
O'er every clime the magic veil to throw 
That only Love can weave, and Peace alone 
bestow ! 

Finis 

October 10, 1907 



115 



ACROSS THE CENTURIES 

A RESPONSE 

to 

OMAR KHAYYAN 



TO 
EDWARD FITZGERALD 

Not vainly did he live, that Singer sweet, 
Whose noble Music, in translated lays, 
Has won for him and thee abiding praise; 

The praise of earnest souls, that haunt the seat 

Where musing Thought surveys the Incomplete, 
Where Hope peeps coyly from the sunset rays, 
And mighty shadows of departed days 

In grim projection prophesy defeat! 

But thou, Fitzgerald ! with the Key of Gold, 
That solves the Secret which the Mystics hide — 
In clearer Light than life's poor Tavern 
yields, 
And girt with Dreams that no vague Meanings 
hold- 
Perchance art sitting rapt by Omar's side, 
Weaving Rubaiyat in Elysian fields ! 



116 



ACROSS THE CENTURIES 

O Singer of the Roses and the Wine! 
O Seeker, looking for the perfect Sign! 

As once for thee in pleasant Naishapur, 
Still blush the Roses, and still blooms the Vine. 

And still men come, and at life's Tavern wait, 
And call aloud to him who keeps the gate — 

'Open the Door!' But, drifting as they cry, 
The Door is opened, yet for them too late ! 

Too late! Yet some in Solitude have bent 
The thoughtful brow, on life's Desire intent; 

Intent to learn, intent at last to know 
What the wise hinted, and the Sages meant. 

And thou, O Omar ! sitting at thine ease, 
Beyond the Doubt, beyond the roaring Seas, 

Canst hear thy Music chiming like a bell 
In souls that travail in life's Mysteries! 

And each man's yearnings to one object run, 
As planets circle round their central Sun; 

But if that Centre be eclips'd, alas! 
The toil is useless, and the quest undone. 

What then remains? As in the Long-ago, 
The Mountains lift their terraces of snow, 

The waters murmur in the panting Heat, 
The Wine-cup reddens, and the Roses blow. 

What need to seek some happy Isle in haste? 
Take what is here at thy disposal placed; 

The things of Sense will sure interpret more 
Than Iram-garden hidden in the waste. 

But lo! the Roses on the ground are cast; 
The Wine-cup reddens, but it fails at last; 

And soon the Present, with its wreath of flowers, 
Melts in the dim procession of the Past! 
117 



That soul is pallid as a dying breath, 
That in itself its Heaven worshippeth; 

For sensual Pleasure is but gilded Pain, 
And fleshly Joy the garniture of Death. 

Sweet are the Roses, exquisite the wine, 

And fair the Speech in which the Symbols shine! 

But fairest Symbols shudder into tears, 
When he that singeth misses the Divine. 

How life to life, as passing day to day, 

Is link'd, it were but common truth to say; 

The wise man's thinking is the fool's defence, 
The poet's dreaming is no idle play. 

For all are gather'd in the Potter's hand, 
Made of one clay, to totter or to stand; 

Each has his place, and each his function true, 
And this is ugly, that exceeding grand. 

We sit and listen to the Music's beat, 

The notes are varied, but the whole is sweet; 

So sits the Potter, and his vessels form 
A perfect whole, though each be incomplete. 

Thou saidst, O Omar! midst the Roses' scent 
With Loaf and Wine thou wouldst be well con- 
tent; 
The Roses live in Sharon's deathless Rose, 
The Wine and Loaf in one great Sacrament! 

But holy Things are for the holy made; 
Life is not life that is to Lust betrayed; 

The things that perish and the things that live 
Are set in Symbols of the Things that fade. 

Yet Man is Man, though Centuries grow old; 
Muhammed, sitting on his throne of gold, 

Sees Jesus, breathing, from the ground arise, 
And God in Man Humanity enfold! 
118 



Today is nothing but the step that sets 
Tomorrow further from the Past's regrets, 

And he who makes his paradise Today 
Is Sunset dying on the Minarets! 

Now men may come, and at life's Tavern wait, 
And call aloud to him who keeps the gate — 

'Open the Door!' — and, even as they cry, 
The Door is open'd, nevermore too late! 

Now Sunshine dances where Night's shadows lay, 
And lights the Path into the perfect Day; 

While Hope, whose wings are like the whitest 
Rose, 
A fearless herald, beckons them the way. 

'Tis vain the dice of human Thought to toss, 
When life's one Guerdon is its bitter Loss; 

Despite the Roses and the fragrant wine, 
The mighty Secret centres in the Cross! 

Behold the Key, whose branching arms explore 
The Lock He sets who is the Evermore! 
No Symbol this of Roses and of Wine 
For those who stand and babble at the Door. 

Of all that Man must suffer and must do 
Ere Sunshine reign, behold the Symbol true! 
Upward he looks, but on each side the Bar 
That holds him down till he shall struggle through : 

Till he shall struggle into Self-command, 
And see the Serpent writhing on the strand; 

And march a Victor where the Passions throng, 
The sword of Self-denial in his hand. 

Then Roses sweet shall round his pathway twine, 
The very water blushing into wine; 

And Peace within, whate'er may rave without, 
Turn every tempest into Calm divine. 
119 



And round that Calm the Dreams may come and 

As the Tide rises, and the Ripples flow — 

But Dreams the Mirror of his coming Bliss, 
Not ancient Shadows waving to and fro. 

And thou, O worshipper! whose feet have trod 
With weary step Earth's greenest, loveliest Sod, 
To the cold mountains lift no more thine eyes, 
But in the Human see the Son of God ! 

O Seeker ! looking for the perfect Sign, 
Behold at hand the One life-giving Shrine! 

Enter the Door, turn down the empty glass, 
But fill the Chalice with immortal Wine ! 

May 22, 1898 



HOPE 

Hope is a visitor that comes and goes 
Unbidden; with angelic utterance, 
And eye that flashes like a sun-tipt lance, 

She rises bright amidst surrounding woes! 

What time we sink 'neath Care's embitter'd blows, 
And scarce to heaven lift a timorous glance, 
Or rudely rail at ruthless circumstance, 

Then breathes she freshly like a fragrant rose. 

Life lifts her head, and like a misty vale, 

O'er which the golden Morning pours her beams, 

Illustrious smiles, and hushes all her wail; 
Even so a child, awaking from its dreams, 
Scarce knowing that which is from that which 
seems, 

Enchanted lies, and listens to the gale. 

24th May, 1885 

120 



THE ISLANDS OF THE BLEST 

What time we stand upon the verge, and gaze 
Beyond the signs, the symbols, and the shows, 

That mark the highway of our mortal days, 
Where may the herald of our hope repose? 

There surely may be, surely is, a sphere 

Of larger, lovelier life than we can compass here. 

A sea there is whereon no vessel sails 
But gilded galleys, dipping oars in tune, 

A stormless water where no blast prevails, 
Nor thunder-cloud upon an afternoon: 

But afternoon there is not, for the day 

Of this unbroken clime ne'er vanisheth away. 

Long since a summer Morning spread its calm, 

And left its charm perpetual in the air, 
The which, light-scented with delicious balm, 
Breathes smooth and low, as though asleep it 
were; 
Yet ever freshly on the brow it sweeps, 
And round the passing ear a song like summer 
keeps. 

Upon this quiet sea a thousand Isles 

Float like the water-lilies, green and bright, 
Yet soft as beauty is when woman smiles, 

Fair, but not cold as is the moonlit night: 
They seem, indeed, the blooms of summers past, 
Caught by some mighty hand, and bidden here 
to last! 

Around these shores the golden ripples run 

With lappings low; and stately groves of palm 

Lift up their frondage to the heavenly sun, 
And all the winds are redolent with balm, 

And every flower seemeth glad to be 

So fortunate to bloom in such sweet luxury. 

m 



But of these Islands none the charms relate 

Save those who see them: seeing, none return 

To dimmer spheres, wherein unbending fate 
No power imparts such beauties to discern: 

In lowlier regions yearning hearts must stay, 

Till comes the mystic hand that beckons them 
away. 

The wide umbrageous boughs of ancient trees, 

That stand like hosts with ever-welcoming 

smile, 

Make all the ground beneath them bowers of ease, 

Where all who will may sit and dream awhile; 

There one may win the visions Childhood knows, 

All glass'd with sunny hues, and colour'd like the 

rose. 

No prison here its sullen wall displays, 

Nor haggling mart its greed-enticing door; 

Here needless, lamp's or flickering candle's rays, 
Or bar or bolt, or any frugal store; 

Wherever eye may rest, or foot may roam, 

The wanderer here is sure of comfort-bringing 
home. 

All they that dwell within these blissful bounds 

Are mild of eye, and beautiful of form, 
Their brows unwrinkled, and like flute the sounds 

Of their sweet voices, ever soft and warm; 
They seem to speak like thoughts that can be 

heard, 
Each thought a welling joy, as pipes the nesting 
bird. 

A thousand Islands float upon this sea, 

A thousand galleys ever gliding by 
With swift unhasting motion gracefully: 

Nor toil is at the oars, but those who ply 
The flashing blades seem equally at ease 
With those who ply them not, or lie beneath the 
trees. 



Here labour is unknown — perfect bliss 

Is centred in completeness, soul and frame ; 

Yet nothing here of idleness there is, 

Who feels a wish, that wish becomes his aim, 

And like a stream that turns not from its bed, 

Each motion and each thought to that sole aim is 
led. 

Yet never jar there is, nor discord rude 

Of clashing claims, nor fierce impetuous speech; 

All are as calm as forest solitude, 

Yet social too and glad, and quick to reach 

A brother's heart, a brother's thought to know; 

And each reflecteth each with sympathetic glow. 

No darksome shadow of the days behind 

O'er waking thought or slumbering vision steals; 

As calm without, so peace within the mind, 
No terror dreads, no perturbation feels; 

The drift is ever onwards, ever true 

To vistas lengthening out with soul- entrancing 
view. 

Each Island hath its proper habitants, 

Nor genial host it lacks, nor joyful guest, 

But nothing strains the simple, nothing scants 
The larger outlook, the diviner quest; 

Each walks unfetter'd in his chosen sphere, 

Yet, wheresoe'er he range, finds hospitable cheer. 

And here, though night and darkness are unknown, 
Sleep comes at call, and round the slumberer's 
breast 
By wave of wand a twilight veil is thrown, 

For men from even happiness must rest; 
And men, not Gods, these Happy Islands hold, 
Nor need of dream-light joy is from their bosoms 
roll'd. 

Yet, ampler bliss expected, they are sure 

Such bliss will open, when ascending powers 
A blessedness unbounded can endure 
123 



In fields of unimaginable flowers, 
Whose faintest balm no alien soul can bear, 
Nor uninstructed breathe the pure, thrice-hallow'd 
air. 

These Isles, exempt from every low-born fear, 
No doubting spirits ever entertain, 

But cheerful souls that have for Hope an ear, 
And sun-bright hearts that never trust in vain, 

And grateful bosoms, confident of peace 

What time the mystic hand shall bring its sure 
release. 

So, in this middle paradise content, 

Mid all that earth, in heaven's own smile, can 
yield, 
They wait the blossom of the ripe event, 

The deeper light that is in light conceal'd: 
They dwell within the Morning — but the Day, 
Although it comes not yet, is never far away! 
October, 1876 

SIMPLICITY 

The simplest things are best, for proud designs 

Make life a sorrow, and its end despair; 

But he who breathes the sweet unruffled air 
Of dear content beyond Golconda's mines 
Is rich, tho' fate to narrowest lot confines 

A soul, of empire's secret power aware. 

'Tis better far with many an ill to bear, 
Than see life's garden full of wither'd vines! 

The simplest things are best : the best of men 
Are ever likest to the guileless child, 
Still carrying hopeful hearts, souls undefiled, 

And thoughts that grope not in the sensual den. 
The mounting spirit that is calm and mild, 

Simple and true, is great — and only then! 

December, 1884 

124 



HYMN TO PHILOSOPHY 

Serene above all other powers 

That on our mortal darkness shine, 

Thy path, through Thought's unfading 
flowers, 
Proclaims thee perfect and divine; 

And hand in hand we find with thee 

Both faith and hope and charity. 

Assur'd thou art when others faint, 
And, unperturb'd amidst the storm, 

Thou deignest not to make complaint, 
The calm thou lovest to deform; 

Thou knowest that, beyond the surge, 

The land of beauty will emerge. 

Unsoil'd by taint of selfish thought, 

Unhamper'd by divided care, 
In vain contention never caught, 

And free as eagle in the air, 
Whate'er is lost, whate'er is won, 
Thou soarest ever tow'rds the sun. 

Yet thou with human grief canst feel, 
And stretch, with kindly touch and true, 

The skilful hand that seeks to heal, 
Or speak the word that falls like dew; 

And well thou knowest sigh and tear 

Not always prove the heart sincere. 

Thou teachest man his way to tread 

Through smooth and rough, through sun 
and shade; 

Of nothing good the end to dread, 
Of nothing base to be afraid; 

To follow duty, undeterr'd 

By ill event of deed or word. 



125 



Amid his pleasure and his pain, 
Thou teachest mortal man to see 

There is a nobler height to gain 
Than worldly wealth or dignity, 

The height of that serener sphere 

Which men, unknowing, yearn for here. 

Thy sparing of the crude expense 
Of wasteful tears and useless sighs 

To many seems indifference, 
But is the calmness of the wise, 

That seeks to remedy a harm 

With cheerful face and helpful arm. 

The haste, the turmoil, and the strife 
That tend so much to human woe, 

Would vanish from the scene of life 
Did men thy heavenly wisdom know: 

And all Time's travailers would see 

Thy peerless worth, Philosophy! 

Benignly born the souls to rule 
That breathe on earth diviner air, 

O Spirit, bright and beautiful, 
Forever calm, forever fair; 

Thou shinest in perpetual youth, 

Sweet angel of the Lord of truth ! 

Feb. 2nd, 1908 



126 



RELIGIO POETAE 

The soul of language and of music springs 

From the one centre in the heart of things, 

And, rising upward through the storm and strife 

Of mortal discord, sings the song of life. 

The bonds of silence nature's powers defy, 

And earth and air, the ocean and the sky, 

In tones of thunder or in strains of cheer, 

A message utter to the list'ning ear. 

And man, whose heart by every note is stirr'd, 

Whom muteness saddens, scorns to live unheard: 

So, round the world from farthest pole to pole, 

The voices gather as the ages roll! 

Yet to these voices, ever ringing clear, 

How many turn an unresponsive ear; 

Deaf to each call, in apathy profound, 

How many dwellers in this world abound; 

How many strangers to that liberal heart 

Which follows nature, yet admires art, 

And through the scale of orders and degrees 

Can frankly praise, or tolerate with ease. 

These see, beyond their own contracted sight, 

Nothing to profit, nothing to delight; 

Within their dull enclosure they await 

No larger prospect, and no freer fate; 

Poor souls, imprison'd in their narrow care, 

Of life's grand reaches ever unaware! 

But Song, sweet herald of eternal things, 

Who knows no region foreign to her wings, 

To sympathetic souls alone her vision brings ! 

The true-born poet is a man complete, 
He feels the bitter, but reveres the sweet, 
Finds worth in that which many a passer scorns, 
Gathers the roses, nor ignores the thorns. 
Not love of ease, but love of truth inspires 
His glowing heart with its effulgent fires; 
His eye can pierce, what duller eyes escape, 
127 



The beauty hidden in repellent shape, 

And oft, through glooms that none beside invite, 

Can trace the finger of the Infinite! 

No weakling he, whom arts and arms despise, 
Ev'n daily life has found the poet wise; 
In courts and camps his presence has been known, 
The mitre his, and e'en the monarch's throne; 
The judge's ermine has adorn'd his breast, 
The voice of Science has his worth confest, 
Nor least that science, human ills to ease, 
Which claims the children of Hippocrates. 
His larger powers, turn'd to means and ways, 
Have won him fame outside the poet's bays, 
And such examples history's pages shew 
As Chaucer, Milton, Michelangelo! 

But though the poet may at times appear 
A worthy actor in some order'd sphere, 
Not long his spirit there delights to roam, 
Imagination is his native home! 
His are the regions where the heavenly day 
Smiles all the darkness of the world away; 
Where deathless Hope her fairest dreams em- 
bowers 
In fadeless wreaths of amaranthine flowers ; 
Where blissful Thought in unencumber'd flight 
Extends her view beyond the realms of Night, 
And Love, whose praise angelic tongues rehearse, 
Conducts the anthem of the Universe ! 

Let none declare Imagination brings 
Confusion only to terrestrial things: 
Her mystic speed, her swift creative sense, 
Her poise and vision in the wide immense, 
Have oft rebuilt the rudely-shatter'd scheme, 
Laid the firm base, and won the world's esteem, 
Amazed the dull, convinced the faltr'ing soul, 
And throned the winged thought triumphant at 
the goal! 

128 



But whence the grandeur which the few possess, 
The mental giants whom the nations bless? 
The skill to pierce, the genius to combine, 
The thought to reach, to compass, to define; 
The living essence of the facts to seize, 
And lift the veil from hidden mysteries? 
What smoothes the road that Progress may attain 
The shining goal so long desir'd in vain; 
With sweep of baton clears the clouded van, 
And opens vistas to inquiring man? 
The power to grasp, the energy to try, 
Imagination only could supply! 

And who but those whom heaven has taught to sing 

Could soar with these upon unwearied wing? 

Who but the one no glory can elude 

Could chant the paean of the great and good? 

From ancient times to heroes of today 

Illustrious merit claims the poet's lay; 

Each proud advance, each large achievement rings 

In tuneful music from the poet's strings, 

And, wafted onward through the list'ning years, 

The deathless song re-echoes to the spheres. 

Yet oft, his soul with heavenly visions fraught, 
The bard himself invades the realms of Thought, 
And presses onward, far and far away, 
Where melts the quiv'ring dream-light into day, 
The day whose very shadows are the beams 
That make the sunlight of our mortal dreams! 
Through the long ages Hope's untiring wing 
Has lower left, to loftier heights to spring, 
And human genius, spite of human woes, 
Upward and onward confidently goes; 
While stately Science, marching tow'rds the light 
Views the dark past with keen, unclouded sight, 
And, prudent still, with cautious footstep tries 
The winding path that undiscover'd lies. 
O, part not Science from her sister sweet, 
129 



Imagination ! None so kindly meet 
The work of human progress to complete; 
For Science faints unless aloft she flies, 
Her spirit wavers and her ardour dies. 
But joined with her, Imagination knows 
Her course to steady and confound her foes, 
And, both together, in their hands possess 
The key to truth, the guide to perf ectness ! 

First thought of all, from every rival free, 
The poet's heart devoutly turns to thee 
O Woman dear! with beauty's magic rife, 
Thou fairest blossom on the flower of life, 
Thou loveliest symbol of the Love divine, 
Thy glance a rapture, and thyself a shrine ! 
Thy graceful motions every scene beguile, 
And dark forebodings vanish at thy smile; 
Thou makest summer where the shadows be, 
And life itself were bare — a desert but for thee! 
In thee we find, amid our hopes and fears, 
The kindest friendship and the tenderest tears; 
From youth to age, from childhood to the grave, 
O woman, bright and beautiful and brave, 
With one consent, around the toiling earth, 
We sing thy praises, and revere thy worth ! 

From earth to sky, the poet's love extends : 

The trees, the brooks, the mountains are his friends, 

The starry worlds that in their orbits roll 

Sing many a song to his uplifted soul; 

The grasses whisper to his passing feet; 

The birds a thousand melodies repeat; 

The forest shades with many a vision dower, 

And fill with dreams his meditative hour; 

The waves delight him, and the sunset glows 

With thoughts that haunt him wheresoe'er he 

goes; 
White-mantled Winter eloquently sings 
The pureness dwelling at the heart of things, 
And Summer opens with her rosy hand 
Elysian vistas of the perfect land. 
130 



But Man, the grand enigma of the years, 

Set in the symbols of his smiles and tears, 

Wrapt in the shades of intellectual night, 

The cloud-envelop 'd heritor of light! 

To him the poet dedicates his days, 

To him he turns with pity and amaze, 

To him, from heights on which the sunlight 

beats, 
He looks, he calls, he beckons, he entreats; 
Or by his side, with sympathetic voice, 
His sorrow soothes, and bids his heart rejoice; 
The hidden meaning of the symbol shews, 
And why the thorn is neighbour to the rose ! 

Thus Man and Nature, intimately blent, 

A theme unfailing to his heart present: 

The daily effort, the perpetual strife 

Of hope with fear, of hovr'ing death with life, 

Of pain with pleasure, of delight with woe, 

Of thoughts inert that would, yet would not 

know; 
The mighty range ambition's son surveys, 
The love of pleasure and the lust of praise, 
The mingled motives struggling tow'rd the goal, 
The piteous plight of world-bewilder 'd soul, 
The lover's bliss, the pangs of noble mind, 
And all the joys and sorrows of mankind ! 

Nor fails his soul, with introspective art, 
To catch the finer and the nobler part : 
Though rare the features that at once attest 
Ideal traits instinct and manifest; 
Though far our feet may travel, if we seek 
The classic beauty of the early Greek; 
Though faultless form and perfect line of grace 
Are merely hinted in the limb or face; 
Yet wheresoe'er humanity appears 
Some beauty lingers, and some charm endears, 
Some rays of glory through the dimness shine, 
Some broken touches of the Hand divine! 
131 



So deems the bard, and at his side we see 
Angelic Hope and heaven-born Sympathy; 
His song were vain without their constant aid, 
For man the mourner standeth oft afraid; 
Doubt bars his passage to the lovelier clime, 
And Passion dulls what else might be sublime; 
The troubled soul no pinion will unfold, 
And baser metal overlays the gold. 

By yonder rock a violet springs conceaFd, 

Afar from all the flowerets of the field, 

Her dainty charm no passing eye beguiles, 

Alone she blossoms and alone she smiles, 

Yet some soft beam, ere day's broad banner's furl'd, 

May come to kiss her ere it leaves the world ! 

Thus often beauty, housed in lowly site, 

Nor charms the sunshine nor enchants the night, 

Till Fancy, passing on her airy way, 

Plucks the bright gem, and shews it to the day! 

Almost in reach what fields of wonder spread, 
Around, within, beneath and overhead! 
Around — what wealth of mysteries untold 
The passing wind and whispering breezes hold! 
Within — what depths of feeling still remain 
In human speech some utterance to gain! 
Beneath — what marvels strange to thought and 

eye 
In earth's dark womb still undiscover'd lie ! 
While overhead — unknown and unclass'd, 
A thousand worlds may thunder through the vast ! 

Through the dim air of intellectual day 
What splendours fade unrecognised away! 
What moving voices from the distance call! 
What shining banners flutter but to fall ! 
Yet through the mist that gathers as we gaze, 
Some trickling gleam its kindly light betrays, 
And step by step, howe'er they writhe and reel, 
The shadows, melting slow, the forward path 
reveal! 

132 



And how can lie who feels with all below, 
Deny the Hand whose wondrous skill they shew? 
Review the Human, study line by line, 
Compare and weigh — this creature is divine! 
Divinely made, and more divinely fraught 
With inward charm and amplitude of thought; 
His very presence redolent with grace, 
Light in his eye and spirit in his face; 
For him the dreams of happier days to come 
Are mocking shadows, if their lips be dumb; 
He needs Expression's ever- varying play 
To read the symbols, and to mark the way. 

So turns he grateful to the bard, who tells 
His glad advances and his sad farewells; 
Whose tuneful art his faltering will inspires, 
Controls his low, uplifts his high desires; 
Whose magic touch befriends him as he nears 
The gates of promise or the place of tears; 
Who fills with beauty all his days and nights, 
And while he teaches evermore delights! 
Rich with the beams of their celestial birth 
His lays are precious, even in their mirth, 
Tragic or comic, they alike respond 
To the near present and the far beyond! 

The true-born poet never deems it well 
In grim seclusion from his kind to dwell; 
Of petty vices he becomes a den 
Who fails to mingle with his fellow men; 
His mind, his manners, and his heart are bent 
In crooked lines of selfish discontent; 
He lacks the poise that keeps the spirit free, 
He weakens faith and loses charity. 
Sad in his lot — yet more for him I moan 
Who never dares to find himself alone; 
Who ne'er retires, undisturb'd, to hear 
A voice come by and whisper in his ear; 
Who never turns, abstracted from the throng, 
To view the right unshadow'd by the wrong; 
Nor treads awhile the unfrequented way 
Where the Dreams gather, and the Graces stray! 
133 



Dear to the poet are the hours of calm, 
The blissful moments fill'd with healing balm, 
The soulful spaces, the uncumber'd tracts 
Where thought escapes the tyranny of facts; 
Where for a time on neither hand arise 
Contention's babble or the world's rude cries; 
Where all in man that is divinely crown'd 
In peace may ponder, and in light abound. 
Who can not pass into this mystic sphere, 
Life's burthen carries with a front severe; 
Who never loves with solitude to dwell 
Can wake no echoes on the Muse's shell, 
Can touch no chord, unroll no banner furl'd, 
To charm the spirit, or enchant the world! 

But vain to follow through the days and nights 
What yield the bard his many-hued delights, 
The song were endless that could fitly tell 
Where Fancy leads him for a while to dwell! 
With comrade Fiction, of observant eye, 
Full oft he views the shows of life pass by; 
Or wanders mid the splendour and the gloom 
That ancient poets blazon or illume; 
Or learns the lore that comes by speech or pen, 
Or walks with Shakespeare through the world 

of men; 
Or reads with thoughtful and with reverent care 
What prophet lips of future times declare; 
Or scans the page of history wide unroll'd, 
Or certain dear philosphers of old. 

Around the world, from farthest shore to shore, 
Whate'er may happen, there is good in store, 
Good for the many, who account it chance, 
Good for the few, who note the sure advance. 
In life's campaign the glory is exprest 
In the firm courage of the warrior's breast; 
Care's phantoms vanish when the soul surveys 
The larger hope, the still untrodden ways; 
Despondence lifts her forehead from the dust 
134 



When clearer knowledge shews the heavenward 

trust, 
The homage breathing from the reverent earth, 
And man's mysterious dignity and worth. 

In that great temple where the mighty sleep, 
Whom men would honour and for whom they weep, 
Where sculptur'd tombs heroic deeds disclose, 
Two sons of Science side by side repose. 
Where Newton's dust detains the passer-by, 
There, fitly shrined, see Kelvin's ashes lie! 
Each in his time the foremost guide to scale 
Light's cloud-capp'd summit, and withdraw the 

veil; 
Each in his grasp the mental sceptre held, 
And each in simple piety excell'd ! 
So let it be while earth to heaven uplifts 
Her ample bosom for the shower of gifts ; 
So ever may the greatest and the best 
In heavenly God alone their final faith attest! 

Thus round the world the poet takes his flight 
Where man attracts or Fancy's charms invite; 
And when he wearies of earth's prison-bars 
His wings can waft him far beyond the stars ! 
What though the poet never can express 
His grandest visions in their perfectness; 
Though human language fail to find a word 
For what eye sees not, ear hath never heard; 
Yet through the shadowy portals of the vast 
Some light may flash, some radiant beam be cast, 
Some dim reflection of ethereal day, 
Some strain of music from the Faraway ! 

Muse, sweet goddess of Parnassus' hill! 
Divinest joy that mortal heart can fill ! 
Teach thou each soul thy heavenly presence fires 
To find in Truth the key to his desires ; 
That golden key which can each lock unwind, 
That dearest treasure of exalted mind, 
The only power that can e'er explore 
The height, the depth, the Now, the Evermore! 
135 



O poet, guard thy treasure! Keep it free 
From the fool's jest, the scorner's ribaldry; 
Sweet be thy strain, and guiltless of pretence, 
Noble thy thought, and deep thy reverence. 
Be thou resolv'd no ditty base to sing, 
Let nothing soil the whiteness of thy wing, 
For know, O trav'ler through the vast profound, 
Each spot thou touchest must be holy ground ! 

Dec. 22nd, 1867 
Revised, 1908 



THE LAMENT OF COLUMBUS 

"Hitherto I have wept for others; but now have 
pity upon me Heaven, and weep for me Earth ! 
. Weep for me, whoever has charity, 
truth and justice!' 1 

— Journal of Columbus. 



For others I have wept, but until now 

For mine own self no bitter tear hath flow'd; 
Have pity on me, Heaven ! for I bow 
Nigh to the dust beneath my heavy load, 

And weep for me, O Earth! yea, weep whoe'er 
With justice, truth and charity endow'd 
Beholds me in my sorrow, not despair: 

For anguish hath not taught me to abase 
My right of manhood; neither want nor care, 
That hewed these savage furrows on my face, 

Hath shorn my spirit of its wonted spring, 
Nor bent my mind to smile upon disgrace. 
But 'tis to thee, and to thy heartless king, 

O Spain, forgetful country! that belong 
The shame and blot of that accursed thing 
136 



Ingratitude — to thee returns the wrong, 
Upon thy annals' page it shall endure 

As my memorial, and no after-throng 

Of tears can wash the tainted record pure! 

II 

I have not lived in luxury and ease, 

In the soft down of sensuous delight, 
But cradled on the bosom of the seas, 
And bred amid the billows of the night! 

From my youth up the waves have been to me 
Like friendly voices, or a heavenly light 
To shew me that which yet I could not see; 

For oft, when I have wander'd by the shore, 
Or floated on the waters, there would be 
A sound amid the ocean's hollow roar, 

That crept into my heart as music creeps 
Through the big forest, and the thought it bore 
Was vivid as the dream to him who sleeps : 

And in a vision there was one who came 
In angel form, and with prophetic lips 
And far-discerning eyes pronounc'd my name, 

And bade me forward that I might unroll 
The world's great chart, and prove her certain 

frame, 
And stretch discovery's shield above the whole, 

Give space to knowledge, and unchain the deep ! 
Thus did a glorious promise fill my soul, 
A purpose that no suffering could keep 

From its fulfilment, an inspired trust 
That years of pain and hunger could not sweep 

Away, nor sorrow crumble into dust! 

Ill 

And have I not fulfiU'd it? Have I flinch'd? 

My life hath been a sacrifice to this : 
By foes surrounded, and by famine pinch 'd, 
Hunted, reviled, and follow'd by the hiss 

Of titled scorn, yet was I not subdued, 
137 



But led the way athwart the wild abyss, 
Till then a vast unbroken solitude, 

A world of terrors, which the fond conceit 
Of old tradition mistily endued 
With shapes of horror, ruin infinite, 

Malignant calms and miseries untold! 
And now that I have laid before thy feet 
The Western Indies with their gems and gold, 

Ungrateful Spain, thou leavest me to die 
When I am broken with my toil, and old ! 
Full seventy winters have I seen pass by, 

While I have labour 'd and outwatch'd the stars, 
And fasted through long days, and made no cry; 
Yet here in Seville, like the houseless curs 

There is no roof that I can call my own, 
No pillow for my age, no comforters — 

Why am I thus forsaken and alone? 

IV 

Yet I can bear, as I have borne long, 

The proud man's insult, for it is not meet 
That I should flatter Calumny and wrong, 
And give to Tyranny submission sweet. 

What, if my days are drawing tow'rd the grave, 
Despoil'd of all that age's wants entreat, 
Where is the throne that I would deign to crave 

Of earthly monarch, when my hand hath given 
Kingdoms and thrones across the western wave, 
Sun-lands of glory smiled upon by Heaven? 

Me thought I stood in Eden, when the breath 
Of those soft climes upon my brow was driven; 
All seem'd immortal happiness, and death 

And pain, and care, and rancour, and disease, 
All that degrades humanity beneath, 
That bringeth anguish, or denieth ease, 

Did seem delusion when remember'd there! 
The winds were like low music, and the trees 
Laden with fruits of taste and beauty rare; 

The people kind and gentle as the dove, 
And artless as Guacanagari's tear, 
138 



That quick expression of untutord' love, 

The homage of a heart unspoil'd to woe ! 
Yea, I have had some friends, yet few enough — 
Castile's sweet monarch, thou art now laid low, 

Dear bounteous Queen! whose sov'reign hand 
supplied 
What narrower rulers doubted to bestow: 
And, for that thou abstain'dst to cast aside 

My heaven-directed mission, thou shalt be 
Remember 'd in the future with a pride 
That all thy virtues could not win for thee ! 

Within the volume of the Book of Time 
My name is written, and the world shall see 
How glorious was that mission and sublime, 

How rich and deep its meaning, and how true 
The words I spake. But hark! I hear the chime 
Of bells, whose toll shall be my herald through 

The gloomy gates where I shall lay me down 
To rest in peace, which I have longed to do, 

Away from sorrow and the world's rude frown ! 

V 

But thou shalt have thy punishment, proud Land, 

And in the dust thy memory shall recall 
Colombo's sorrows, and his fetter 'd hand! 
See where my chains are hung along the wall 

Of this poor chamber, witnesses though mute 
Of thy injustice. This, yea this is all 
That thou hast given me, and 'tis a root 

Whose branches overshadow me, and shed 
Like poison press'd from some disastrous fruit 
A rain of scalding drops upon my head ! 

Methinks I see, as with a prophet's eye, 
The downward path that thou shalt darkly tread: 
The nations yet shall view thee crownless lie, 

And scorn thee for thy feebleness, and watch 
The waning glow of thy first majesty, 
And point the speaking finger, and detach 

The Ocean jewels from thy diadem; 
And thou shalt tremble, and shalt vainly crouch 
Beneath the shadow of thine ancient stem; 
139 



And clouds shall gather on thy starry brow, 
And storms, that shout the sailor's requiem, 
Beat on thy naked bosom; thou shalt bow 

To those whom thou despisest; thou shalt weep, 
And none shall pity, but the wind shall blow, 
And the wave bellow, and the tempest sweep, 

And cover thee with darkness: but in vain, 
For, deaf to warning, thou shalt blindly keep 

Thy wilful course, O most unthankful Spain ! 

VI 

And now my work is done, and every breath 

Comes gasping, and I feel my eye grow dim, 
As though it wearied on the watch for death ! 
Unwonted faintness steals along each limb, 

And the o'erlabour'd heart, whose trust is 
stay'd 
In humble faith and penitence on Him 
Whose hand has guided every step I made, 

Toils like a panting runner near the goal. 
But could I stand upon the deck once more, 
Amid the deep and multitudinous roll 

Of the wild waters, I would yet explore 
Far-distant countries, and unbind the scroll 
Of hidden knowledge wider than before! 

But this is for the Future : I have done 
My destin'd part, and led the world's rich lore 
Along the golden pathway of the sun! 

I thank thee, Heaven, that I was thy choice, 
And for the march of Progress thus begun 
I raise my dying hand and feeble voice, 

And bid thee, Earth, to triumph in thy gain, 
And call upon thy nations to rejoice, 
For other peoples now shall rise and reign, 

And human freedom fix its sturdy roots 
In soil that despots shall assault in vain: 
And these shall be the guerdon and the fruits 

Of my long agony; and such an end 
Nor my ambition, nor my hope o'ershoots ! 
And now, my God, my Father and my Friend, 

As Thou hast been my Guardian and my Guide, 
140 



To Thy sweet care my spirit I commend; 
For, toss'd and wearied on this rough world's 
tide, 

Rest in itself were almost heaven to me ! 
I have no friend, no comforter beside, 

No hope, no home, no glory but in Thee ! 

May 6th, 1869 



THE LEGEND OF THE PALM 



They told the maid that her warrior love 
Had pass'd from the battle's strife, 

Where he did his part with a hero's heart, 
To the field of a better life. 

She clasped her hands o'er her gentle breast, 

And she droop'd her lovely head; 
To the Christ she vow'd in the convent's shroud, 

And so to the world was dead ! 

But her love came home on his gallant steed, 

And a noble knight was he; 
And ah ! how great was the fearful weight 

Of his hopeless agony. 

He railed and he cursed at Holy Church 
That had parted his love and him, 

Now his eyes were alight with wrathful spite, 
And now with tears were dim. 

That night St. Francis in a dream 

Reproved his rage unblest, 
And promised then if he toiled for men 

That God would give him rest. 
141 



II 

From the chapel of our Lady 

He was coming back one day, 
Through the fierce hot sun that was beating down 

On the town of Monterey. 

He was pale and weak with vigil and prayer 

And the anguish in his breast, 
And beneath the shade by the wild shrubs made 

He threw him down to rest. 

And lo ! uprooted at his feet 

Upon that burning way, 
Its leaflets toss'd and soiled with dust, 

A tiny palm-tree lay. 

He watched the little helpless thing 

With cold, unpitying eye; 
And yet, ah, me! 't was hard, for he 

Could almost see it die! 

But soon within the padre's breast 

A shameful horror sprung — 
Could he sit by and see it die, 

So innocently young? 

He takes it to the runnel's side, 

And kindly holds it there; 
It drinks and lives, its strength revives, 

The padre breathes a prayer! 

He wraps it in the softest moss, 

And takes it to the town, 
And in his care its griefs to share 

Has ceased to feel his own! 

Then in his cell he kneel'd and prayed 

That God would kindly give 
One blessing yet — that He would let 

The little palm-tree live. 
142 



And live it did. From day to day, 

From week to week it grew: 
Within his heart it held a part, 

And seemed to love him too! 

At early morn and dusky eve 

The palm-tree was his care, 
And its life made part of his beating heart, 

Of his daily work and prayer. 

And the other love that had tortured him 

Was chastened day by day, 
Till its fervent heat grew a memory sweet, 

And its torment died away. 

So the months ran on, and were lost to sight 
In the depths of the passing years, 

And life rolled by, like an April sky 
With its sunshine and its tears. 

And the beautiful palm seem'd a living psalm 

With a music manifold 
That did not cease: so he found the peace 

That St. Francis had foretold! 



Ill 

Now it came to pass at the end of years 

That a pestilence held sway, 
And brought with its breath the shadow of death 

O'er the town of Monterey. 

The fathers tended the sick, and prayed 
For the dead in the midnight mirk, 

And the nuns came o'er from the cloister's door 
To help in the holy work. 

And the padre Jose cared for the sick, 

And his only rest and calm 
Was at morn and eve, when he took short leave 
143 



To sit near his own dear palm. 

Then there came a day when the fever ran 

Like a fire through each vein, 
And he knew that the strife of his mortal life 

Must pass through the vale of pain. 

It was eventide, and he sat him down 
'Neath the palm, as it whisper 'd low, 

And his thought grew bright, with a holy light, 
Round the love of the long-ago. 

When lo! there came to the open gate 

A nun with her gliding pace — • 
He starts at the sound — and the lost is found 

As he looks upon her face! 

She sits beside him beneath the palm, 
And they talk of the years gone by, 

Of the lives that lost had yet blossom'd most 
For the love of the God on high. 

And he finds that for years she had been at hand, 
And her heart had gone up for him, 

While her days went past in prayer and fast 
In the convent holy and dim. 

Now slowly faded the splendid sky, 

And the last soft hues of day, 
And the sweet light dies in the padre's eyes, 

And his soul has pass'd away! 

And the bell sounds low from the convent tower, 

To call to the vesper psalm, 
And the holy maid sits under the shade 

Of the rustling boughs of palm. 

So he leaves his earthly love behind 

And the life with care opprest, 
And passes above to the perfect love, 

To the one eternal rest! 

22nd June, 1883 

144 



INSPIRATION 

What son of soul knows not th' enraptur'd hour, 
When midst the round of dull monotonies, 
With all the dreamy flash of summer seas 

Comes Inspiration, an uplifting power! 

Then sorrows, fleeing headlong, shrink and cower, 
And in the air low-breathing harmonies 
Make wordless music, sweet as hum of bees 

That flit with happy wing from flower to flower. 

Then roll the visions nearer; scene on scene 
Ecstatic rises; voices hymn the songs 

Perfection loves; and, every close between, 

Beauty, whose form to heaven alone belongs, 
Uplights the world, and makes life's cares and 
wrongs 

Like things that are not, and have never been! 

Sept. UtK 1885 



PHAETHON 

When Phaethon, the shining, craved 
Presumptuous favour of his sire, 
To guide the chariot of the sun, 
The gods supreme laughed every one, 
And shook their locks of fire. 

But Clymene had, mother-like, 
Entreated of her mighty mate, 

And Helios, though revolving deep 
The awful peril, yet must keep 
His pledge inviolate. 

Awhile his golden brow grew dark 
With shadows, chasing one by one; 
But as with haughty step he turned, 
145 



His beaming eye new lustre burned : 
Then spake he to his son. 

"Rash youth! unwilling I assent, 
"Thy mother's charms compel me yield; 
"Hold thou the steeds with iron hand, 
"Drive not the chariot near the land, 
"Nor scorch the verdant field." 

His sisters bring the shining steeds, 
And fingers, glancing to and fro, 
With skilful touch unerring place 
The golden yoke, the glittering trace: 
"Now, brother, mount and go!" 

Then Phaethon, erect and proud, 
Elate with dreams of youthful might, 
Made low obeisance to his sire, 
And cried, with eyelids flashing fire, 
"Farewell, my Lord, till night!" 

Into the chariot then he sprang, 
And grasped the reins of living light, 
And as the lustrous car roll'd out 
Through heaven's portals rang the shout, 
"Farewell, ye gods, till night!" 

The old Immortals shook their heads, 
The younger rose and cheer 'd the sight, 
And, as the radiant wheels went by, 
Great Zeus, awaking, heard the cry, 
"Farewell, ye gods, till night!" 

Swift on their way the coursers speed, 
The gods resume their high pursuits; 
When suddenly a cry they raise, 
And lo! the chariot swerves and sways, 
And earthward, blazing, shoots! 

The trembling mortals gazed in awe, 
For help to mighty Zeus appeal'd; 
146 



The fervid heat waxed fierce and strong, 
And, shrivelling, ran the fire along 
The woodland and the field ! 

Then blackly rose a thunder-cloud, 
Which, as the gods beheld, they fear'd; 
A fiery bolt hurl'd Phaethon down, 
And grimly smiling, with a frown 
Zeus shook his grisly beard ! 

Down, down through ether's glistening pale 
The rushing body flash'd and whirl'd, 
Like falling star — and found a grave 
Beneath a river's winding wave, 
And saved a threaten'd world. 

At once the loyal god of day, 

Without a murmur or a tear, 

Back to their wonted highway drew 
The foaming steeds, that quickly knew 

Their lawful charioteer. 

But loud and long the mother wailed, 
And all the sun-god's kindred wept, 
Till 'neath the heavenly architraves, 
Like rush of winds or roar of waves, 
The doleful cadence swept! 

Zeus, sore enraged, commanded peace, 
And best this object to fulfil, 

To alders changed, with sovereign nod, 

The sisters of the vanish'd god, 
And heaven and earth grew still ! 

Then, trumpet-toned, a herald cried 
To every quarter of the air, 

"Behold how far a god may fall! 

"By his example warned, let all 
"Presumptuous souls beware!" 

7th Aug., 1860 

147 



SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS 

How sweet my Shakespeare in his sonnets sings, 
The great soul musing on the shows of Time, 
And talking to himself in honeyed rhyme 

With words that paint the very heart of things! 

Thou hadst thine own dark hours, for these strings 
Breathe notes of sadness like a vesper chime, 
And through life's crowded ways thy thought 
sublime 

Escaped not care, nor sorrow's keenest stings. 

We that in meaner guise the conflict wage, 
And face the bitter sleet that strikes within, 

May not forget that in thy pilgrimage 
Thou felt'st the force of that delirious din, 
Which drives the weak and worthless into sin, 

But crowns with holy light the chasten'd sage. 

1st Aug., 1883 



THE FLOWER OF THOUGHT 

It comes, as all good things at last arrive, 
With unexpected speed: it blossoms out, 
The fruitage of a hundred days of doubt, 

Of long-bewilder'd dreams that could contrive 

No door to ope, no path on which to strive, 

Still mock'd and harried by the cares that flout; 
Yet not because of these, though not without, 

The splendid bloom sits smiling and alive! 

Beware, O searcher of life's harmony; 

Think not thy mind a dull mechanic power, 
That throbs and groans its object to attain. 
The soul's rich harvests ripen suddenly, 
And many an idle, melancholy hour 

Has garner'd, all unknowing, golden grain! 

18th Jan., 1901 

148 



FALLING LEAVES 

One by one they fall and fade, 

Some in the sunshine, some in the shade, 

Some in the bright and glowing noon, 

Some 'neath the cold and quiet moon; 

One whirleth here, one falleth there, 

Till the ground is cover'd, the bough is bare: 

So every field and path receives 

These falling, fading, dying leaves! 

One by one we fall and fade, 
Some in the sunshine, some in the shade, 
Some in the broad, unclouded light, 
Some in the cold and quiet night; 
One mourneth here, one parteth there, 
Till the soul is weary, the home is bare: 
So every field and path receives 
These fading hearts, these dying leaves ! 

But let us not too sadly say, 
Thus we shall wither and fade away; 
For leaves that flutter and fall and die 
Make rich the earth on which they lie. 
So live, that life's endeavour bold 
Summer by summer may unfold, 
And memory keep the pictur'd scene 
Of leaves that once were fresh and green. 

15th Oct, 1869 



149 



A MESSAGE FROM THE NIGHT 

The stars are out, their mission to fulfil, 
The might that is in solitude is here, 
A present inspiration; soft but clear 

The distant brook is heard below the hill; 

The very silence to itself is still, 

And that mysterious awe, which is not fear, 
Is breathing through the dewy atmosphere, 

And all the world is yielding to its will. 

Now seem we nearer to the wondrous Heart 
That is the pregnant centre of the Ages, 
In which all things that live may claim a part, 
Where dwells the power that kindles and as- 
suages; 
To which all thoughts extend, from which they 
start, 
Hope's glory, Joy's fulfilment, Duty's wages! 

30th Aug., 1884 

INTERRUPTED 

O dreamful soul, how happy is thy fate, 
A seat amid the placid vale to earn 
Of Meditation, and from thence discern 

Scenes that the poet's tongue can but relate 

In halting numbers. Yet the shock how great, 
When all intent some higher truth to learn, 
Upon thy lower consciousness return 

The sounds of common day, importunate! 

So starts the one, with head-supporting hand, 
To whom, upon the couch on which he sank 
Among the grasses, suddenly there comes 
The tramp of marching men, the sharp command, 
The sabre rattling on the charger's flank, 

The bugle's cry, the thunder of the drums! 

12th Dec, 1902 

150 



HARMONY 

I hold it true that all things are in tune; 
E'en discords, how so little they agree, 
Still merge into one mighty harmony, 

As the wide wastes that smile beneath the moon. 

Midnight is starry sister of the noon, 

And tearful rains but May's outriders be, 
And snows are nurses of the hours that see 

The roses blushing on the brow of June! 

So evermore the happiest souls are they 

Who take what cheer life offers without stint, 

Nor pass unheard the songster by the way, 
Nor fail to profit by the feeblest hint, 
Finding a little summer in the glint 

Of struggling sunbeams on a winter's day! 

2Jfth Nov., 1903 



THE SUMMONS 

I heard it in my youth, a voice that came 
Clear on the rushing wind; a ringing shout 
That rent the startled midnight of my doubt, 

And wrapt at once my breathless heart in flame! 

I heard it once again, when hoped for fame 

Made dreamlight all within me and without, 
Like sun-swept folds of banners billowing out, 

Or silver-glancing fairies at their game! 

And now again I hear it, but afar, 

A groaning thunder labouring on the wind, 
Dim notes, half-veil'd with dying beat of drum ! 
Yet well I know, whate'er may make or mar, 
What seas may bear me on, what darkness blind, 
What light uplift, to me that voice shall come ! 

17th March, 1894 

151 



THOSE GENTLE FEET 

I listen for those gentle feet 
That made the bliss of yore, 

Whose coming was so passing sweet, 
Whose parting was so sore. 

I sit and listen, but in vain, 

They come no more, no more again! 

The sun may rise, the morning shine, 
The merry birds be glad, 

But what shall bring this heart of mine 
The joy that once it had? 

I sit and listen, but in vain, 

Those gentle feet come not again ! 

The music of those gentle feet 
My heart has danced to hear; 

They made my life a joy complete, 
Whenever they drew near. 

And now I listen, but in vain, 

They come no more, no more again ! 

86th March, 1888 



SONG 

Let me but look into thine eyes, 

I care not then thy voice to hear, 
For all within thy heart that lies 

Their bright, their glowing depths ensphere; 
And I can read in letters clear 
What thou, perchance, couldst never say; 
Nor yet repeat, 
For words too sweet, 
For hope too far away! 

152 



But if when in thine eyes I gaze 

I read not right the message there, 
Forgive me that with mute amaze 
I ponder on a sight so rare. 
Thou art so sweet, thou art so fair, 
Thy glances fill me with delight; 
The fault is mine, 
For still they shine 
Like stars amid the night ! 



Uth July, 1902 



THE FIRST DAY 

High o'er the wide and sightless realms of gloom, 
Primeval Darkness, Death's twin sister, sate, 
And in her ear no voice articulate 

Made softest whisper of her instant doom. 

The blind salt waves sent up their rank perfume, 
And thro' the solid night, in viewless state, 
Upon their queen the trailing vapours wait, 

And hueless flowers spread their ebon bloom. 

Then o'er the trackless carpet of the surge, 
With one night-quelling flash ineffable, 

Usurper bright, uprose the sovereign Day ! 
And Darkness shivering on the utmost verge, 
Shot thro' with shining javelins, swift, yet still 
Imperial in her terror, fled away. 

30th Dec, 1894 



153 



THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE 

Who doubts the beauty of our English tongue, 

Of him but little do I reck or deem: 

It leaps as gaily as the morning beam, 
It sighs like lute by lingering lover strung; 
It mourns, it wails, it chimes like sweet bells rung, 

It pictures battle, and it paints the dream; 

It steals and murmurs, till the gathering stream 
In rolling thunder hears its anthem sung! 

What master spirits with this instrument 

Have nations roused, and senates bound in awe ! 
What bards have tuned enraptur'd melodies! 
Its flowing stops held Milton's ear intent, 

And from this plenteous fount did Shakespeare 
draw 
The music of his deathless harmonies ! 

1st Feb., 1902 

SONGS THAT NEVER CEASE 

When the days are full of shadow, 

And the nights are full of pain, 
And the joy-birds will not gather, 

For the pelting of the rain, 
There are thoughts that are the sweeter 

For the solitude complete, 
Like the ringing of a viol 

In the lonely midnight street. 

Oh ! I know not, and I care not 

What the morrow may disclose, 
It may bring the storm of voices, 

Or the fragrance of the rose; 
But it can not bring me trouble, 

For my heart has found its peace 
In the thoughts that rise within me, 

And the songs that never cease ! 

21fth Jan., 1898 

154 



THE INDOMITABLE SOUL 

There are songs that are sighings, and smiles that 

are tears, 
Over hopes that lie dead in the midst of the years, 
When the garden of life has no bird on the spray, 
And the blooms that adorn'd it have wither 'd 

away. 

The song has no gladness, the smile has no grace, 
They are veils to keep silent the world they must 

face; 
But the heart that is throbbing so wildly below 
Is waging its fight with the demon of woe. 

Wait, wait but awhile, and thou need'st not be 

told 
That the heart of the fighter is purer than gold; 
That the sunlight has climbed o'er the clouds of 

defeat, 
And the song it is joyful, the smile it is sweet! 

For there burns in the depth of the dominant 

soul 
A light never quenched till it reaches its goal; 
And the spirit undaunted, unawed by the strife, 
Is worth all the blooms in the garden of life. 

31st July, 1911 



155 






NATURAL ELOQUENCE 

The waving grasses as they sway and lean, 

The fluttering leaves, the flowers divinely 
bright, 

That bask and beckon in the golden light, 
Have an authentic eloquence, wherein 
Lies their chief charm, resides their power to win 

The hearts of those whom things sincere invite; 

Who, free from fetters of base appetite, 
In Thought's still garden love to walk serene. 

Unspoil'd by shadow of self-consciousness 
They render all their sweetness, and for thee 
Rejoice or mourn, as suits with thy desires: 
Yet in their wealth is nothing of excess, 
Nor must thou ever unregardful be 

Of that reserve which modest worth requires ! 

1892 



A FAIR ESTATE 

A fair estate I hold in fee, 

I would not yield it for a throne! 
And yet I could not make you see 

This realm that is mine own. 

It is so vast, this mighty earth 
Is by comparison a speck, 

And yet its glory and its worth 
Are at my fingers' beck! 

I sit and summon what I need, 
And when of this display I tire, 

The whole phenomena recede 
And fade at my desire. 
156 



For over all I hold the sway, 
My will assembles and disbands ; 

The music and the song obey 
The waving of my hands. 

I wander where the sky is blue, 
I glide thro' Space, I gaze at Time, 

I bathe me in the heavenly dew 
Of all that is sublime. 

With freedom from the gossip's sin, 
The weary talker's wordy roll, 

I 'scape the chatter and the din 
That paralyse the soul. 

One gracious friend my heart receives, 
A noble Lady, calm and bright, 

Who with her golden fingers weaves 
The garlands of delight. 

With kindly face she leads me out 

Into the solemn wilds afar, 
Beyond the region of the doubt, 

Beyond the furthest star. 

The curtains lift, the thick, the thin; 

Yet many a veil she dare not draw, 
Lest sight dissolve the mortal in 

Unutterable awe! 

She shews me how to view aright 

The grey expanse, the gloom, the shine; 

And everywhere with hands of light 
She touches the divine. 

It may be that she speaks in vain, 

The earth-born cloud too closely clings; 

But in mine ear how rich the strain 
Imagination sings! 

157 



The joys the many seek and win, 

The wealth with vulgar pow'r endued, 

Are nought to what I find within 
The realm of Solitude ! 

26th Oct, 1902 

THE WORLD'S WAY 

The world needs none, though it uses all, 
It staggers not when the mighty fall; 
Men turn and step from a near side-door, 
And the world goes on as it went before. 

The suns rise up and the moonbeams play, 
And the graves grow thicker from day to day, 
And hearts are merry and hearts are sore, 
But the world goes on as it went before. 

We are but parts in the scheme of things, 
And one man weeps while another sings; 
We rise from the deep and we roll to shore, 
And the world goes on as it went before. 

Let us fill our place in the royal right, 
Be it dull or gay, be it dark or bright; 
We may lose the less, but we find the more, 
While the world goes on as it went before. 

1895 

THE CLOUDY PORTAL 

How weak is the spirit of mortal 

As he thinks, with shuddering breath, 
Of the gate of the cloudy portal, 

Of the door of the shadow of death ! 
Yet the wise in heart divineth 

There is mystery even in light; 
One sun in the noonday shineth, 

But a thousand stars in the night ! 
158 



A thousand stars in the shadow, 

And one alone in the day; 
An ocean of light on the meadow, 

In the forest a glimmer grey, 
Now, which hath the greater story, 

Or flows o'er the higher bars — 
The day with its tide of glory? 

Or the night with its rush of stars? 

There are things that are past divining, 

But for hope there is always room! 
Why may not a light be shining 

In the darkness beyond the tomb? 
Why may not the weary mortal 

Approach, without shuddering breath, 
The gate of the cloudy portal, 

And the door of the shadow of death? 

1907 



THE RUIN 

O ruin! crumbling as the ivies creep 

From stone to stone in graceful disarray, 
Roofless thou art, and canst not shut away 

The morning sunbeams as from heaven they leap; 

Nor yet forbid the raindrops as they keep 
Their pattering march or intermittent play; 
And stars of night, and shadows of the day, 

Soft airs and rude, gaze, wander, waver, sweep! 

Thou hast forsook the designated plan, 
And builders cease thy value to enroll, 

While many deem thee cumberer of the sod: 
Yet even thus some life-bewilder'd man 
Unbars the deaf approaches of his soul, 

And throws them open to the winds of God! 

13th March, 1902 

159 



THE GOOD PHYSICIAN 

Truly of all earth's noblest he is peer, 
The good physician! He despises none 
Of woman born, and his regard is won 

Wherever he can succour, soothe, or cheer. 

Body and mind and spirit are his sphere, 
For Man he loves; and so his work is done 
As God's ambassador, Truth's darling son, 

Nor shame has he to cover, nor to fear ! 

He thinks no selfish thought, does nothing mean; 
Alike through wintry storms and sunny glades, 
In barren wilds or gardens breathing balm, 
Faithful, erect, undaunted — yet serene 
As when Ulysses walk'd among the Shades, 
And moved Achilles' wonder at his calm! 

2nd May, 1905 



THE GOD'S AWARD 

Two brothers in the early days of Greece, 
Had labour 'd long and with unwearied skill 
To build at Delphi, on Parnassus' hill, 

For god Apollo and his fame's increase, 

A beauteous temple. Slowly, piece by piece, 
And stone by stone, their purpose to fulfil, 
The work went on to perfectness, until 

The finish'd temple saw their labours cease. 

Then, with a faith that would not be denied, 
In tones devoutly humble, hear them pray, 
'Grant us, Apollo, what is best for men !' 
Apollo promised on a certain day 

To give them answer to their prayer, and when 
That day was fully come — the brothers died ! 

27th Aug., 1906 

160 



CHAUCER 

What time I wander forth by wood and dime, 
Or list Dan Chanticleer the morning hail, 
Oft will a thought of thee my heart assail, 

Chaucer, singing like a bird in June ! 

Well didst thou mould our English into tune, 
And hive its sweets in many a honey'd tale, 
Thy strains as clear as thrush or nightingale, 

And glad as flowers in the May-tide noon. 

The Knight, the good Wife, Ploughman, Pardoner, 
With all their comrades in that pilgrimage 
Which made its march to Canterbury town, 
Shall never fail the genial soul to stir, 
Nor cease to travel on, from age to age, 

Bearing the banner of their bard's renown! 

25th Jan., 1906 



THE LOVER OF SELF 

Lover of self, by his own self cajol'd 

Unthinking still the downward path to keep, 
One fateful harvest only cares to reap — 

His pamper'd thoughts and wishes uncontroll'd. 

As silly miser worshipping his gold, 
He recks not who may smile or who may weep, 
But ever blindly, like a flock of sheep, 

All joys he driveth to his wanton fold ! 

Then, ere he knoweth, pleasures stand forbidden, 
And leaden labours cling around his feet, 

And songless tides make dole upon the shore; 
Till he, like captive in a dungeon hidden, 
And self-depriv'd of every sinless sweet, 
Deep set in shadow moaneth evermore! 

20th Jan., 1898 

161 



UPLIFTED 

Happy the song that in the singing brings 
Its own reward! The bird upon the spray 
Looks not for any to applaud its lay, 

But there in guileless rapture sits and sings: 

The bee lulls labour with its murmurings 
Through all the sunny spaces of the day; 
And the big billow, leaping o'er the bay, 

With reckless laughter on the rude rock springs! 

And shall not he to whom the vision comes, 

Fling from his heart the ever-conscious load, 
And let the heavenly music work its will? 
Why should the dreary dronings of the drums, 
That mark the pace upon the sunken road, 
Be evermore repeated on the hill? 



25th Feb., 1895 



LITERATURE 



Not all achievement, though at heart divine, 
Alike endures. The ivy-mantled wall 
With its wide-gaping wounds may well appal 

The soul that builds the palace or the shrine : 

The sculptor seeks, with inspiration fine, 

To grave the form that men would still recall, 
But, year by year, it crumbles to its fall : 

And fades the painter's magic, line by line ! 

O Builder! Sculptor! Painter! ye are one 

With him who sings ; yet are ye crampt for space, 
And deal with that which not your touch 
retains : 
Men will remember ye have nobly done; 

Yet while the hands of Time your work efface, 
The written music of the soul remains! 

15th Feb., 1895 

162 



CARPE DIEM 

" Gather the rosebuds, while ye may. " So sang 
A bard who spake right wisely and in tune, 
For who can thread the golden bowers of June, 

And in his bosom nurse a single pang? 

Still by the paths of life the roses hang 
In richness infinite, a royal boon, 
And he who will not pluck them, late or soon 

In music's stead shall hear a dismal clang! 

O wanderer in the labyrinth of time, 

Choose thou the sweet when sweet is in the way, 
If duty bid not to a sterner choice. 
So may some sunbeam from the far sublime 
Strike through the shades that cloud the mortal 
day, 
And teach the heart within thee to rejoice! 

5th July, 1896 



SOLITUDE 

How little doth he know of Solitude 

Who names her Loneliness! Her ample dome 

To him is but a refuge, not a home, 
A shelter merely, when his cares intrude. 
Oppress'd, he seeks life's problems to elude, 

And for a space in idle ease to roam; 

But soon the silence waxeth wearisome, 
She hath no welcome, being misconstrued ! 

Yet, what a heavenly glory crowns thy brow, 
O Solitude, true mother of the great 

Who forward press with many a stifled moan : 
The spirits most sublime thou dost endow, 
And He, Redeemer of our sinful state, 
Into a mountain went, Himself alone! 



15th Jan., 1887 

163 



THE CHOICE 

How find the best in life? 

How choose the high 
Out of the circle of 

Things that die? 

Round us the garden blows, 
Rich with its blooms; 

Which are life's trophies here? 
Which the tomb's? 

Answer this question then, 

Under thy breath: 
Which is the master-soul, 

Life or Death? 

If it be Death, thou art 

Right on the way, 
For the night followeth 

Fast on day! 

If it be Life, thou art 

Still in the right, 
For the day followeth 

Fast on night! 

Out of the mystery 

One thing is clear: 
Man must be driven by 

Hope or Fear. 



This then is left to thee — 

Only to say, 
Shall I choose Darkness, or 

Cling to Day? 



Jan., 1903 



164 



REST 

Silently, solemnly, slowly, far in the purple West, 
Robed in a grandeur holy, sinketh the sun to rest; 
Day hath fulfilTd his duty, and from her mystic 

seat 
Night, in her starry beauty, cometh on silken feet. 

Now, by her courtier Slumber summon'd to calm 

repose, 
Blossoms that none can number softly their petals 

close; 
Shadows that steal and hover creep over lawn and 

lea, 
Darkness and stillness cover mountain and vale 

and sea. 

Splendour itself grows dreary, wrapt in its garish 

blaze, 
He that is never weary lives not in mortal days. 
Sweet as a shady garden, welcome as care's release, 
Rest! thou art nature's warden, dear as the angel 

Peace. 

2nd June, 1911 



165 



INDOMITABLE 

Think not, O troublous years! that ye have won 
In life's stern battle, when ye smite to earth, 
And strangle the young Pleasures in their birth, 

And draw a sullen cloud athwart the sun : 

Some souls there be whose strife is but begun 
When ye march past exulting; some whose 

worth 
Survives defeat, and is of sturdier girth 

Than that which, failing, is at once undone! 

The storm may deepen, but the less to yield 
Is he content who willeth to arrive, 
And little recks of passing miseries. 
He is unworthy of life's battlefield 

Who, howsoever wounded, will not strive 
To gain his feet, or fight upon his knees ! 

Sept., 1892 



THE HAPPY BIRD 

Thou art a parable to me, 

With foot so light and wing so free, 

O bird upon the swaying bough ! 
O graceful child of liberty ! 

Thou pinest not for what may be, 
Thou takest what the gods allow; 

Thine is the true philosophy, 
O bird upon the swaying bough ! 



23rd April, 1902 



166 



1892 



DIRGE 

The prisoner sits beside the gate, 
And looks upon the lordly train; 

For him no gay acquaintance wait, 
For him the trumpets blow in vain! 

His eye is sad, his locks are grey, 
He has no more to lose or gain; 

The world is keeping holiday, 

For him the trumpets blow in vain ! 

The grave is green wherein he lies, 
He feels no sunshine, heeds no rain; 

The shouts are ringing to the skies, 
For him the trumpets blow in vain! 



THE CONTRAST 



How keen the pleasant days of youth, how dull 

our later hours, 
When Care has strew'd our path with thorns, and 

pluck'd its loveliest flowers; 
Ah, tell me not that wisdom gain'd can ever half 

repay 
The blush of hope, the bloom of love, that Sorrow 

takes away ! 

The splendid dreams Ambition wove while life 

was young and proud 
Have pass'd away like ev'ning's beam that lights 

the dusky cloud; 
And vain as desert mirage now dissolve the airy 

towers, 
And dead the hope, and fled the love, and faded 

are the flowers! 

Aug., 1866 

167 



GOOD AND EVIL 

When I look round upon the waste of days, 
The lives now lost to memory as to sight, 
The huge revenges of fierce appetite, 

The weapons sharp with which the dullard plays, 

The straight path tangled in a 'wildering maze, 
The good man wearied with the bad man's spite, 
Then seemeth Evil almost infinite, 

And Good a shadow on the desert ways ! 

But when, with calmer soul, I look above, 

And with a humble heart hold back my sighs, 
Then sorrow fades, and Peace I see arise 

With eyes of light, and tender as the dove. 

From her I learn, and learn without surprise, 

That Good is infinite, and all is Love! 

12th Sept., 1883 

UNTRAMMELLED 

What though, dear heart! thy voice shall be un- 
heard, 
Till thy cold ear within the dust shall know 
Nor song of joy nor solemn note of woe, 

By aught that grieves or pleases all unstirr'd : 

Then God be praised ! Thou shalt have liv'd and 
err'd 
Unwatch'd, untrumpeted; no thing of show, 
No proverb for the passers to and fro, 

In God's great garden- world a cageless bird! 

Right happy he, who on the tide of days 
Can calmly ride amid the storm and sun, 

Nor weary his poor heart for wearying praise, 
Nor yearn for that which worthless is when won; 

Content to do what Heaven before him lays, 
And find it all-sufficing, being done! 

1st June, 1885 

168 



A PASSING SIGH 

Oh, for the happy leisure of calm days, 
And undistracted hours ! Let me be, 
Whate'er betide, a child of Poesy, 

A humble guest where Meditation strays; 

And when Imagination turns to gaze 
On those fair forms that yield her fealty, 
Like the hush'd murmur of a summer sea 

Be all that can disquiet or amaze. 

Sad is his lot to whose unresting soul 

Sweet Silence never came on wings of light, 

To whom, unless the rattling chariot roll, 
And crowds rush by, the noon is dull as night: 

To me more dear the rock and sandy shoal, 
Or mountain cave of lonely eremite ! 

3rd Dec, 188Jf 



PANOPLIED 

How happy he whom nothing can appal 
That in this world's arena takes its place, 
Save only if it bring deserv'd disgrace, 

Or on the head of loving kindred fall. 

What is to him the bicker and the brawl, 
That win so little and so much debase, 
When he can lift an ever-trusting face, 

Assur'd that heavenly God is guiding all ! 

Such souls unto the dregs can drink the cup 
Of disappointment, firmly fix'd the while 

In conscious calm to meet each staggering 
blow; 
And, in the power and purpose to bear up 
Against misfortune's heavy hand, can smile 
When all prediction threatens overthrow! 

15th Dec, 1901 

169 



THE HIGHER LIFE 

In the dark valley, where the shadows cling 

Round bush and tree, how weary is the tread 
Of him who stumbles on, nor overhead 

Views the blue sky, nor hears the joy-birds sing: 

For him in vain the mystic timbrels ring, 

Or thoughts, whose flight the hues of morning 

shed 
On eyes that yearn, their quiv'ring pinions 
spread; 

For never sunward did his spirit spring! 

How diff 'rent he, amid life's stormy fray, 
Who walks uplifted, scorning to be bow'd 
Though thunders roar, and many a rock be 
riven : 
He, girt with joy, still travels day by day 
Up the far steep, above the midway cloud, 
And through the dreamlight wins a glimpse 
of heaven ! 

16th Oct., 1904, 

APRIL 

Light-footed April on the green appears, 

Array 'd in golden vesture of the sun, 

A charmful apparition — but anon 
Clothed all about in silken robe of tears. 
Fitful she is, yet how her presence cheers ! 

What joyful lights through all her shadows run ! 

She smiles, she weeps — yet weeping just begun 
Bursts into song as glad as chanticleer's! 

The daffodils upon her broider'd skirt 

Love-tokens seem, and as she nearer trips 
We yearn to speak her praises, if we may : 
But half-acceptance, half-denial curt, 

Hover and dance and twinkle round her lips 
In wordless music, most demurely gay! 

5th April, 1905 

170 



ST. GEORGE'S DAY 

St. George's day is with us once again; 

Welcome its dawn, be mindful of its pride, 

For on this day was Shakespeare born — and 
died, 

Shakespeare, the bard that held the golden pen! 

O mighty soul! to whose unerring ken 

Nature laid bare her secrets, far and wide, 
What group is this that, gather 'd at thy side, 

Finds recognition in the hearts of men? — 

Macbeth, whose foemen were his guilty fears; 
Shylock, in all his cruelty sublime; 

Grief -madden'd Lear, robb'd of his royal 
state; 
The gentle Desdemona and her tears; 
The big Othello, goaded into crime, 
And noble Hamlet, mystically great ! 

23rd April, 1899 

THE MAN OF THOUGHT 

Much does he 'scape of canker and of care, 
The humble student of philosophy, 
Who looks on all things with a tranquil eye, 

Of their capricious semblances aware. 

He with the crowd needs not to stand and stare, 
Prickt with the idle vehemence to see, 
For well he knows that Time is enemy 

To him who fails with thought his hours to share ! 

For him each day is garmented in light 

That shineth now, but soon will cease to shine; 
For him the pouring of life's golden wine 

Hath more of promise than it brings to sight; 

The small is pregnant with the infinite, 

And much that men call common is divine! 

21st April, 1908 

171 



DREAMLIGHT 

O Sunlight! Moonlight! Starlight! 

Ye differ, yet are one, 
For all your glory streameth 

From one far hidden sun. 

And through one fairy prism 

The Dreamlight draws your rays, 

And in one medium mingled 
Your mellowest beams displays. 

The Sunlight is too splendid, 
The Moonlight is too sere, 

The Starlight's tender beauty 
Too solemn and severe. 

For mortal man is cumber 'd 
With many a cloud and gloom, 

And needs a temper'd brightness 
His pathway to illume. 

And this the Dreamlight maketh 
For groping mind and sight, 

A vestibule and shelter 

Till shine the perfect Light! 

11th April, 1908 



172 



THE HIDDEN LAND 

When to that gate we come, beyond whose bar 
If bliss abide not all our life is vain, 
Shall we be fear-enshrouded, or contain 

Our souls in hope of what its secrets are? 

Shall we be ready like a rushing star 

To pierce the night; or in some lustrous plain 
With rapt amaze the full possession gain 

Of consummations dream'd of from afar? 

Now, gazing on thy forehead cold and dun, 
O Death ! mute angel of the evermore, 
We may not deem thine invitation sweet, 
Yet find example in that perfect One, 
Who travers'd earth serenely to thy door, 
And enter'd with unhesitating feet! 

8th April, 1902 



GATHERING THOUGHTS 

I love to listen to the gathering thoughts 

That come as softly as the snowflakes fall, 

A flight of silvery wings, a festival 
Of fragrant roses and forget-me-nots. 
Through flowery meadows and through haunted 

grots 

They lead me on; I follow where they call; 

I lose my little self, and all in all 
Creation glows in these enchanted spots. 

Thus from the windows of my soul I view 
A wider prospect than the narrow round 
Of daily pleasure mixt with daily care; 
And from this comelier outlook there ensue 
The tranquil spirit and the hope profound 
That breathe a measure of celestial air! 

SOth April, 1902 

173 



DUTY FULFILLED 

O sweet above all others is this thought — 

That I have done my duty! It is like 

A thousand pleasures pour'd into the heart, 

A thousand blisses trembling in the soul ! 

So died the hero Nelson; and so died 

His country's father, upright Washington, 

Great in his actions, greater in himself! 

The pleasant thought of duty well fulfill'd 

Strikes like a sunshine inward. It can call 

A heavenly smile unto the captive's lips, 

And draw a light from sadness ! 

1863 



FAITH 

Faith sees the promis'd throne 

Beyond the western skies, 
While vain Conceit goes blindly on 

With self-applauding eyes. 

Faith sees the better day 

When all around is dim, 
And hears the scatter'd notes that stray 

From Victory's distant hymn. 

So let me live apart 

From every low design, 
That I may find within my heart 

A harmony divine ! 

1868 



174 



OUTLAND AND DREAMLAND 

Diverse they are, yet dwell they near together: 
The Outland open to the sun and weather, 

The Dreamland nourish'd by a heavenly dew 
Unseen, and lighter than the downiest feather. 
Though Dreamland's worth the Outland oft 
denies, 

Yet never friends to closer oneness grew; 
They reap existence in each other's eyes, 

Arid lo, perchance the Dreamland is the true! 

Look thou into thy heart, and thou shalt see 
A world that lacks not in reality: 

Long vistas sweeping onward into space, 
And dainty nooks wherein the fairies be. 
Thou shalt hear music sweet as angel choir, 

And footsteps falling with a seraph's grace, 
And eyes shall answer to thy soul's desire, 

The tender eyes of a beloved face ! 

And here no narrow limits bound thy gaze; 

All things are thine, and thine without amaze, 

The fairest and the holiest and the best, 
The light that deepens, and the hope that stays. 
On Dreamland hills if there be found a haze, 

'Tis shot with arrows of the golden West, 
And all around, the soft horizon glows 
With gentle hues and colours of the rose. 



Here rise majestic mountains; castled steeps, 
Where the winds sing and thick the ivy creeps; 

And here are forests and mysterious plains, 
And shining rivers, and empurpled deeps: 
But over all a happy stillness sleeps, 

And over all a calm for ever reigns; 
A stillness that no weariness begets, 
A calm as lovely as a sun that sets. 
175 



Here many a thought that beat its hapless wings 
Against the cage the Outland verge enrings 

Now lifts its burnish'd bosom to the sun 
In easeful flight, still soaring as it sings. 
And here the ear to tuneful murmurings 

Enchanted listens; and the end is won 
Ere the slow Hours on their leaden feet 
Have learn'd their marching orders to repeat. 

This is the Land to which the poets throng, 
And all who love the ministry of Song; 

This is the Land where rest the noblest minds, 
Where the wise ponder, and the soul grows strong. 
In these fair fields, for ever soft and long 

Her silver horn Anticipation winds; 
And Love, amidst a wilderness of flowers, 
Here lingers out his solitary hours. 

And larger, clearer, holier is the view 
Of all that men most yearn to come unto; 

The far sublime, the mystical profound, 
The heights that, pass'd, their height again renew; 
All that has grace within, or wears the hue 

Of endless life with hope unfading crown'd 
Has here its seat, and calls to those who fare 
O'er Outland highways companied with care. 

If thou wouldst hither come, and here abide, 
Put thou away thy folly and thy pride; 

For such as enter save as children dear 
It were far better they had stayed outside : 
For here is many a labyrinth untried, 

And many a yawning precipice is here, 
And sad awaking from the vision sweet 
For those with Outland shoon upon their feet ! 

22nd Sept., 1900 



176 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

When Morning breaks, and shadowy Night 
Flees, lost amid the deep'ning light, 
While all the air begins to glow 
With dawn's delicious overflow; 
How fair are all things to the sight, 
How every prospect blushes bright, 
And glory climbs from height to height, 
When Morning breaks ! 

So with the heart! It lives, in spite 
Of all past sorrow's whelming might, 
When like the dawn, or swift or slow, 
It sweeps from out the shade of woe, 
And finds its wrong emerge as right, 
When Morning breaks! 

8th May, 1878 



DETRACTION OF THE GREAT 

Woe to the man presumptuous to condemn 
Great souls and true, for that at intervals, 
In their majestic labours on the walls 

Of Time, they err'd a little! Root and stem 

Swift may he perish, ere he touch the hem 

Of garments own'd by Light's dear prodigals: 
What faults they had were but the dust that falls 

Upon the shining facet of a gem! 

How long, O small of soul ! couldst thou have stood 
Where they loom'd steadfast? Thou, that 
lovest gain, 
And sellest honour for the basest bribes, 
What call hast thou to scorn the great and good; 
And, like Thersites, with a tongue profane 
Against the godlike hurl thy diatribes? 

13th June, 1905 

177 



BOOKS 

I weary often of the bookish lore 

Which fills, but never satisfies. The sweets 

Of other minds are other minds' retreats 
From that hard road we daily travel o'er: 
Yet, like the waters bursting on the shore, 

The ripple whispers, and the billow beats; 

But the tide changes, and the season fleets, 
And that which was ere while is now no more. 

But, ne'ertheless, it is a noble dower 

To have so much of wheat without the chaff, 
Such breezy lawns without the winter wind; 
With blithe Montaigne to while away an hour, 
At life with gay Democritus to laugh, 
Or weep with Heraclitus o'er mankind! 

11th Sept., 190k 



SEEING, THEY SEE NOT 

How many to this magic world are blind, 
And see not half its wonders. Like a flock 
They follow on, and make a laughing-stock 

Of him who pausing listens to the wind, 

Or stays his steps in sky or cave to find 

Some hint of larger truth in cloud or rock: 
They weary of the waiting, and they mock 

What seems so vain to their unseeing mind! 

Compared with these how solitudes excel! 

Than such for comrades let me live alone, 

And find in nature all the wit I need: 

Give me for friend the calm and teachable, 

The thoughtful eye that can regard a stone, 

Or see the beauty in a common weed! 

26th Aug., 1902 

178 



VIOLETS 

Ye violets, ye violets, 

Sweet messengers of Spring! 
Each heart the winter now forgets 

That's fled on snowy wing: 
Ye hide your lovely heads, as tho' 

Ye half denied your grace, 
And wonder'd men should ever grow 

So glad to see your face. 

But ah ! ye can not guess the sense 

That little things impart 
Of Pleasure's truest evidence, 

The flute-song of the heart : 
It takes a human heart to feel 

A human heart's delight, 
And feeling often can reveal 

What never comes to sight. 

And if your lays, unheard by ear, 

To any seem unsung, 
Yet there are thoughts we can not hear, 

That never wake the tongue; 
There's music such as harp ne'er bore, 

Nor silver voice set free, 
When Fancy dips her golden oar 

In Thought's phosphoric sea ! 

Ye violets, ye violets ! 

Ye draw this music nigh, 
And seem like mystic amulets 

To my deep-musing eye : 
Ye wake the long and varied strain 

That summer suns shall bring, 
And welcome Beauty back again, 

Sweet messengers of Spring! 

22nd April, 1868 

179 



SONG 

Come, rich and high the bumper fill, 

And loudly swell the chorus; 
Come, vow that we'll be cheerful still, 

Whate'er the fate before us: 
Old Earth may sweep her orbit round, 

And tears may follow laughter, 
But none of us, I dare be bound, 

Will see Wit limping after! 

Chorus. Old Earth may sweep, &c. 

Up with the bowl; an hour of soul 

Is worth a mint of treasure, 
When wit meets wit, and brains control 

The genial-flowing pleasure : 
A fig for those whose solemn way 

Holds still the same dead level, 
A cheerful heart will keep at bay 

Dejection and the devil! 

Chorus. A fig for those, &c. 

No fear we still shall find enough 

To make strong men like Cato, 
Nor lack the nobler, finer stuff 

Of philosophic Plato! 
God bless them all, those worthies old, 

With love we have entwined them, 
Yet trust an honour'd place to hold, 

And not too far behind them ! 

Chorus. God bless them all, &c. 
20th April, 1870 



180 



SUNRISE 

Now Sunrise comes, a maiden proud yet meek, 
In white and gold apparell'd, heavenly fair; 
A form so perfect, and a face so rare, 

The poet's eye might long unpleasur'd seek. 

Soon as she steps upon the farthest peak, 

And rolls the burnish'd ripples from her hair, 
The world enchanted smiles, and all the air 

Reflects the hues that mantle on her cheek. 

Dear queenly Maid ! in whose delightsome train, 
Close to thy side, angelic Hope appears, 
And waves and beckons as she glides along; 
Thou comest never unto men in vain, 

Some tender hearts are sure to dry their tears, 
And genial spirits quicken into song! 

2nd June, 1900 



THE BURDEN OF THOUGHT 

Who thinks must suffer, be he what he may, 
Peasant or prince; for over him is bent 
The mystic shadow of the firmament, 

The fateful finger of the passing day. 

He may not wave his thronging thoughts away 
Into the prison of a still content, 
For tongues they have most sternly eloquent, 

And eyes that bid to listen and obey. 

The burden presseth when the heart is glad, 
And heavier weigheth on the soul forlorn, 
That writhes and quivers in its wretchedness : 
Yet has it something that not all is sad, 

Something that lifts above the breath of scorn, 
That comes to solace and remains to bless! 

6th Nov., 1898 

181 



IN HOURS OF DARKNESS 

In hours of darkness let us murmur not 
That light so feebly comes, or not at all : 
Why sit for ever in the judgment-hall 
Of our own heart, and with stern sentence blot 
Delight, that delicate forget-me-not, 
Which only blooms where dews of kindness fall? 
What if no sunbeams dance along the wall, 
Must we then hang each dim and doleful thought 
Upon some outer hook, and give it place 
In the day's prospect? We are not machines, 
With no life in us but the life that leans 
Over and through us from the narrow space 
Through which we walk. Is there no light, no grace, 
Save what seems such in this world's shivering 
scenes? 

30th March, 1872 



ASPIRATION 
An Ode 



O Thou, of all things universal best ! 

Viewless, and unexprest 

In this our mortal sphere, 
Save in the shadowy symbols that appear 

To wiser eye and ear; 
Who sittest in the central heart of Life 

Unshaken, while the outward strife 

Howls round the inward soul; 
To whom all matter in its primal forms 
Or exquisite proportions, and each dream, 
And thought that struggles tow'rd superior light, 
Point like the needle steadfast in the storms; 
182 



Or like the solemn bell, whose knoll 
Swept wide upon the noiseless air of night, 

Brings in its tones a deeper sense 

Than the mere sound its wandering chimes 
dispense, 

Low- whisp 'ring to the heart dream-woven 
eloquence — 
Thou art the Source and Object of the scheme 
Of lower being, on whose summit smiles 

Hope the unterrified, in weakness strong, 
Who will not yield, but like the sea-girt isles 

Murmurs the midnight long! 

II 

Earth's best are beautiful, 
Not in themselves but in their possible: 
Their hearts are fountains springing to the noon; 

And their responsive frame 
Yearning for light and concord's holiest boon, 
Like an Aeolian harp whose strings the wild winds 
tune! 
Never a grand thought came, 

Clothed in exceeding beauty, 
But owned a nobler name, 

A far sublimer duty! 
Music is sweet on earth, 
But it only gives a part 
Of the universal heart 
In the yet returning birth 
To which our hope extends, 
Where a vivid calmness beams, and blends 
With the restful soul of Mirth! 

Ill 

Sweet are the scenes and times 

Of the early days gone by; 
But a deeper thought sublimes 

The realm of Memory: 
Let it be more or less, 
Sorrow or happiness, 

183 



Voices that meant to bless, 

Joys that could ne'er express 
All that they gave; 
Still from their essence, sweet and pure, 
A spirit comes that shall endure, 

A presence strong to save; 
A watchword syllabled by these, 
A voice that faints and dies no more 

Along the driving seas, 

Or by the lonely shore! 



IV 



If when the stars are bright there is no sound 
Thro' all the spacious heaven; no deep wind 
Ringing wild anthems in the ear of night; 
What is there but a silence so profound 
That we in fleshly fetters bound 
Wake suddenly, and in the light 
That is not seen by mortal sight, 
Look out beyond our kind; 
And view what is not visible, and hear 
What is not heard, afar or near — 

Music, whose sweet vibrations are within, 
But only in our solitude arise 
Above the dead'ning din, 
And aimless cries 
That mock the skies, 
And darken thought with sensuous agonies! 



But nothing is, without its due regard 
Of infinite meaning ! Not a dream lies cold 
Swathed in its with'ring garlands; not a sigh 
Wastes in mid air its sorrow manifold : 
Nothing is lost that glancing heavenward 

Breathes out its unimaginable hope, 
And by diviner instinct, not by sight, 

Moves onward waiting ! Such its boundless scope 
184 



That Reason halts, with shaded eye 

To con the footprints of Humanity; 

And as she views the pathway rise 

From vale to hill, from mount to skies, 

She follows, with the loftier sense 

Of faith's immortal evidence; 

While on her face a tender light 

Soft shadows forth the infinite; 
And firmer grow her steps and strong, 

And fainter Doubt beneath her rings, 

Till as she upward soars and springs, 
Her lips are musical with song! 

VI 

Mortal ! that in the narrow cage of life 

Wagest perpetual strife 
With sullen thought and undefined desire; 

Thro' whose dream-laden breast 
Dark clouds and vapours ever writhe and roll, 

While light, too seldom manifest, 
So swiftly loses all its sweet control; 

Tend thou each trembling fire, 

That it may mount the higher, 

And ever tow'rd the sky 

Bend an uplifted eye; 
Whate'er thou doest, struggle for the best, 
Whate'er thou doest not, at least aspire! 

3rd Oct, 1869 



185 



SONG 

Hope's Return 

Hope to the heart that sorely weeps, 

Is like a bird that suddenly 
Mounts up aloft with winged leaps, 

To wanton in the sky. 
How fair to sight each feather bright! 

How swift each airy wheel ! 
While glad delight around its flight 

Pours music's silver peal ! 
How quickly then its griefs depart ! 

And O, how exquisitely rare 
The peace that wanders thro' the heart, 

Like perfume thro' the air. 
The woe how fleet! the bliss how sweet! 

The joy how dear to feel! 
With each heart-beat dance fairy feet 

To music's silver peal ! 

Jfli May, 1872 

A SONG OF AFTERNOON 

I love to sit in some retir'd nook 
'Mid the soft murmur of the afternoon, 
And watch the shadows of the leaves, that dance 
Like fairy figures on the golden floor. 
Around me the green meadows stretch away 
In sunny calm, and meet the distant woods 
Whose deeper verdure looms against the sky; 
The birds in yonder thicket wake the still 
With fitful song, and thro' the neighb'ring grove 
The low wind moves so gently, that it seems 
Most like remember'd music. In this hour 
There steals a languid sense along each limb, 
And the recover 'd heart bounds back again 
Into the garden of its summer thoughts, 
Where, all at ease, it beckons forth the Dreams, 
That mingling with the shadows and the sun 
186 



Entice them into sympathy, and make 

Visions processional, that glide and pass, 

And passing vanish not, but come again 

In various guises, multiplied and wrought 

Into one balmy breathing of sweet forms. 

Resting from all unrest, from anxious fears, 

And dim similitudes of woes unborn, 

The calm soul hovers on its floating wings 

Round the clay tenement from which it steals 

To win a little holiday, and bathe 

In light fresh-shed from fountains of the sun. 

Far off in cities men are chasing wealth 

With fever'd feet, and weaving wayward dreams 

Of what shall please them in the years to come; 

While I, who put not happiness aside, 

Take the near cup held out for me to drink, 

Quaff the rich odours of the sun-clad world, 

And follow Fancy, as she softly wheels 

Thro' inner skies as calm as those above. 

There is no Discord near me — I have shut 

The gates against her; and Time's chariot moves 

Thro' soundless ways, his coursers rein'd with 

fight, 
And he himself a radiant god of smiles! 
Who could be sorry in an hour like this, 
So full of beauty, and so far from tears? 
I little envy him who must be sad 
Whatever happens; who must nurse his ills 
And feed them with the nectar of his heart, 
Dragging his petty griefs into the light 
Of glorious noons, and suns whose setting is 
A court where kings might doff their proudest 

state, 
And feel no loss. How little they deserve 
These hallow'd moments who improve them not! 
Here have I all the bounties of this world 
Spread at my feet; soft airs and sunny gleams, 
And murmurs from far islands in the deep, 
Where sits the palm and looks along the waves: 
I hear the ripples singing on the sands; 
The sea-bird's cry that thro' the mellow air 
187 



Sounds musical, and with the inland winds 
Harmonious blends, nor mars their lulling tune. 
And now there seemeth nought impossible, 
And far away whatever of unrest 
Dwells in the fitful record of men's lives ! 
Yet tears will follow — -that too well I know: 
But why entice them? Why not for a space 
Forget such drops will visit human eyes; 
And in our hearts lay up a store of joy 
To scatter thro' the darkness, till once more 
Another sweet oasis greenly smile? 

28th March, 1872 



DAFFODILS 

Ye happy daffodils! whose golden blooms 
Upon the bosom of the virgin Spring 
In bright profusion now are clustering, 

Dear is the gladness that your face illumes. 

Now all the myriad tribes that earth enwombs 
Stir in their nests; and many a tender thing 
Uplifts its head, as birds begin to sing 

And haunt the garden's long-dismantled rooms. 

Yours is the faint crescendo of the strain 
That Nature sings, and singing never tires; 
A voice that spending ever is unspent; 
An outlay certain of perpetual gain; 

Yours is the gift our waiting heart desires, 
The grace of promise and replenishment! 

13th April, 1900 



188 



THE SPIRIT OF SONG 

I 

Amidst the shadowy tenants of the brain 
Sits one bright Spirit, bound with many a wreath 
And garland twinkling like an April rain : 
Around him all is music, for his breath 
Like the South wind murmureth, 
When the leaves are swinging light 
At the portals of the Night; 
And with a touch unutterably sweet 
He wakes the harp of Thought, 
Whose strings of golden rays are wrought, 
Whose mingled measures tuneful beat, 
And blend like sunny waves that whisper as they 
meet! 



II 



And oft in order'd ranks and fair array 
The tribes of Thought before him stand, 
Or move responsive to command, 
Tho' none so dream-involv'd as they; 
And many a plume is nodding grand 
O'er brows of purest white; 
And some are silent, yet the light 
Within them glowing beameth bright, 
Tho' cloth'd in drooping folds of night; 
And some are singing as they pass 
Along the still and solemn way 
That leads to heaven from mortal day; 
And some are quiv'ring, like the grass 
Whose feathery tresses bend to hear 
A sigh in the summer atmosphere: 
But all some glory on their foreheads wear, 
And all are beautiful, and some divine 
With locks of radiant hair, 
And eyes like suns that shine ! 
189 



Ill 

A tender and a never-dying glow 

Embraces all; a sense of joyful rest 

Fills every part, and flows from breast to breast, 

As woodland lakes whereon no bubbles blow: 

And wide and sweet 

The echoes meet, 

For their frame is light and their wings are fleet, 

As the lightning gleam, 

As the golden beam, 

Or the visions that flash thro' a sleeper's dream: 

As music in the midnight, 

When the starry worlds are still; 
As voices in the twilight, 

When the mist is on the hill; 
As the dew upon the flower, 

As the shadow of a cloud; 
As the flitting of an hour 

When the heart of man is proud; 
As the ripple on the shore 

When the sky and sea are calm; 
As the murmur of the low wind 

In the islands of the palm! 

IV 

When that young Spirit looks abroad and smiles, 

Then weave they dances with aerial feet, 

And sing a thousand songs, the whiles 

Their very motion maketh music sweet: 

Now advance they, now retreat, 

Twining silken threads of glory 

Ever as they meet! 

Never a lock of theirs is hoary; 

Youth is seen 

With joyous mien, 

And eye of faith, and footstep keen, 

And happy thoughts that gild unhappy lore : 

Crown'd are they with deathless flowers, 

Pluckt from Love's eternal bowers 

In the garden of Delight, 

190 



Where the morning and the night 
Are but Morning evermore! 
April, 1868 

THE SEARCHLIGHT 
The sheeted light comes sliding o'er the bay, 

A sudden splendour — -and the winking sea 

Awakens in the blind obscurity, 
To find within the dark a little day! 
The deck with all its orderly array 

Springs into view — or if perchance it be 

A landscape caught, lo, house and hedge and 
tree 
Start up like apparitions, then away ! 

So is it when the searchlight of the soul 
Projects its blaze into surrounding night, 

Within whose mystic glooms the Future 

cowers; 

With beating hearts we seem to catch the goal 

Of thoughts that shall be garlanded with light 

In brighter days to dawn, and happier hours ! 

23rd Sept, 1904 

THE SENSE OF HUMOUR 

The man who would grow wiser, as the years 
Rush on with still accelerated pace, 

Must learn that life, altho' a vale of tears, 
Has yet another and a comelier face ; 

A face where no satanic grin appears, 
But a soft sunshine, and a kindly grace 

That looks on each event and passing rumour 

With a transfiguring sense — the sense of humour ! 

Sweeter is Humour than her brother Wit, 

Who yet, gallantly, now and then obeys her; 

Her tender touch is soft and exquisite, 

While his is sharp, and keen as any razor; 

Our mortal follies she will mildly twit, 
And nothing that can happen will amaze her; 

'Let gentleness my strong enforcement be' 

She says with Shakespeare — and with him say we. 
191 



She sees what Wit can never quite discern, 

The good that hides in every human breast, 

And passes over with a kindly turn 
Sins, errors, peccadilloes, and the rest. 

But as life's lesson is so hard to learn, 
It is small wonder that so few are blest; 

And humour is so rare that (more's the pity) 

One must be thankful to be merely witty! 

From "Pegasus at Grass." 



FRAY JUAN GARIN 

St. Juan the hermit's alone in his cell 

On the lofty crag where the eagles dwell; 

But the devil is near when the heart grows fat, 

So he plagued St. Juan of Montserrat. 

The Lady Riquilda grows suddenly sad, 
For the devil is in her and makes her mad, 
And she tells her father, the old Count, that 
Her cure is with Juan of Montserrat! 

She is gone to the mountain, Riquilda the fair, 
But better for her had she ne'er come there; 
For deeds, they are dark when the heart grows 

fat, 
So was it with Juan of Montserrat ! 

Then he cut off her head, for he fear'd the sun 
When it shone so bright on the deed he had done, 
And sad and sore was the poor heart that 
Belong'd to St. Juan of Montserrat. 

He buried her there in the rocky mould, 
And many a bead o'er her grave he told, 
And night and day on his mossy mat 
Pray'd Juan the hermit of Montserrat! 
192 



Then he fled to Rome, and the Pope besought 
For penance due to the crime he had wrought, 
And heavy and grim were the fears that sat 
On the soul of St. Juan of Montserrat. 

He must be a beast, never lifting his head, 
Till God should pardon his crime so dread : 
So he made his home with the owl and the bat, 
And a beast was Juan of Montserrat ! 

Then crawl'd he forth on his hands and knees, 
And ate the rank grass and the bark of trees, 
Till his body grew hairy, his claws like a cat, 
So that none knew Juan of Montserrat ! 

For seven long years on his way he went, 
With his wolfish eyes on the green earth bent, 
Till the hunters caught him, for all forgat 
The features of Juan of Montserrat. 

In the Count's old castle an infant lay, 
But five months old if it were a day, 
And it speaks, "Rise up, for I tell thee that 
God pardons thee, Juan of Montserrat!" 

Then rose the beast as those accents rung, 
It rose, and spake with a human tongue; 
And all that were round it wondering sat, 
For they saw 'twas Juan of Montserrat ! 

He told his story, and soon are they 
On the spot where the fair Riquilda lay; 
They open'd the grave, and up the dead gat, 
And gaz'd at St. Juan of Montserrat! 

And the maiden went home to her father's hall 
From her grave on the cliff without coffin or pall, 
And the devil back to his quarters gat, 
Having sorely plagued Juan of Montserrat ! 
193 



A college for monks the Count rais'd on the spot, 
That the miracle never might be forgot; 
And many a friar has pray'd on his mat 
For the soul of St. Juan of Montserrat ! 

28th Jan., 1868 



THE GREAT MAN 

The great man moves among the things of time 
Serene but lonely. Souls that blinded be 
To the inward substance view him carelessly, 

And count his words but as the bells that chime. 

Yet ev'n his very limits are sublime, 

Like the wide shores that gird the mighty sea, 
Which else unbounded in its mystery 

Could find no base whereon to tune its rhyme. 

Dear God ! there is a garden in the waste, 
A tone harmonious in the discord lies, 
A voice divine informs the solitudes : 
The great man sees — he hears — but will not haste; 
He walks abroad with consecrated eyes, 

And the Great Silence round about him 
broods ! 

Uth Nov., 1902 



194 



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 

Soft be thy slumbering — 

See, she reposes, 
Dearest and tenderest, 

Sweet as the roses ! 
Balm of the summer wind 

Be thou her dower, 
As she lies sleeping here 

Like a shut flower! 

Hush! she is dreaming now — 

Leaves in the trellis 
Daintily rustle now, 

Ye and your fellows; 
Bee in the honey- vine 

Murmuring lowly, 
See that thou wake her not, 

Chant for her solely. 

Cloud in the blue above 

Poising serenely, 
Shade thou this slumberer 

Silent and queenly; 
Bird on the willow-bough 

Noiselessly shaken, 
Sing thou a lullaby 

Till she awaken ! 



21st May, 1900 



195 



UNUTTERABLE 

The thoughts that still unclad wait their audible 
array, 

And to minds that muse intently seem as distant 
as a star, 

May be tokens of the presence in the mystic Far- 
away 

Of the grandeurs that unutterable are ! 

As they hover and they gleam o'er the boundaries 
of sense, 

To the fanning of their pinions we grow eager to 
respond; 

But we can not wake the Voices of the fateful and 
and immense, 

That lie hidden in the infinite Beyond. 

So the eloquence that flows from the sweetest- 
moving tongue 

Is but surface-bubbles breaking on the bosom of 
the wave; 

And the soul within the music, howsoever nobly 
sung, 

Of its source is ever silent as the grave. 

For by symbols we are taught what the sages 

have to tell, 
And in emblem- wise we measure both the ancient 

and the new; 
And the utterance profoundest, bidding ignorance 

farewell, 
Shall itself be but a symbol of the True ! 

2nd Nov., 1913 



196 



THE TIMELY LAY SONNETS 



THE TIMELY LAY 

The Sonnet is the poem of the age, 
In one compact and unfatiguing strain 
Singing its song and ceasing! It were vain 

To seek men's rapt attention to engage 

Who make their life a breathless pilgrimage, 
Counting but loss what is not present gain, 
And evermore impatient of the pain 

That brings to birth the broodings of the sage! 

So let thy thought be ample, brief thy rede, 
Clear be thy meaning, eloquent thy tongue, 
Each line a canto's bright epitome; 
And men will hearken even while they speed, 
And find in garlands on the streamlet flung 
A message from the everlasting sea! 

6th June, 1899 



DISAPPOINTMENT 

How sad the day when hope, once counted sure, 
Like some poor bird lies dying at our feet, 
Its eyes fast closing to each sunny sweet, 

And roll'd in dust its feathery garniture. 

What cries we lift for some good power to cure 
The wasteful toil, the ceaseless incomplete, 
To smooth the surly billows as they beat, 

And grant us something destin'd to endure ! 

But cries are vain, for all too well we know 
Delights that visit earth are only gleams 
That glance a moment from a happier clime; 
They come like angels, and like angels go, 
For as they pass a paradise it seems, 
And as they vanish 'tis but dusty time ! 

9th Nov., 1893 

199 



THE GATES OF DREAMLAND 

The gates of Dreamland open to the few 
Who see, as others see not, what belongs 
To that perfection which o'ershadows wrongs, 

That mystic substance which enshrines the true. 

For Truth is that whose universal hue, 
Unseen as is the breath of solemn songs, 
Strikes all pervading thro' Creation's throngs, 

For ever one in ancient and in new. 

And those blest souls within the gates who pass 
Hear wondrous tones, and rest contented eyes 
On scenes of unimaginable calm: 
Deep hollows swell, rude hills grow smooth as 
glass, 
Wild tangled wastes as order'd gardens rise, 
And ruthless roarings sweeten to a psalm! 

22nd March, 1898 



THREE PICTURES 

"Happy the day," the blushful maiden cried, 
"That dawns upon my bridal!" So she stept 
O'er youth's gay border, and the sunlight leapt 

Around her, and the song went echoing wide! 

Years fled away, and with a mother's pride, 
And tenderest fears by hope at distance kept, 
She watch'd, still smiling even while she wept, 

Her blooming daughter parted from her side! 

And then the years went onward, freighted now 
With joy, and now with sorrow, and anon 
With storm and darkness verging on dismay; 
Until one morning on her placid brow 

Earth's sunshine smiles its last, and she is gone 
Where light and music never pass away ! 

23rd June, 1895 

200 



APPRECIATION 

Dear is appreciation. Toil is sweet, 

Dauntless and all unwearied, when we know 
Another soul with sympathy will glow, 

Another heart with satisfaction beat, 

And strew a welcome for our homeward feet 
With flowers than which none half so fragrant 

blow, 
With smiles that ravish, tones that thrill us so 

That all past labour is a joy complete ! 

Bar not the lips through which a word of praise 
Seeks ready utterance, for this unsaid 
May filch the key of paradise away : 
We are but human, and our little days 
Yearn at the gates of kindness to be fed ; 

Then, dearest friends, supply them while ye 
may! 
22nd April, 1895 

A MOUNTAIN SONG 

mountains! ye are living things to me, 
Shapes that my soul looks up to, sovereign 

heights 
Whereon the days sit dreaming, and the nights 
Brood like the shadow of Eternity: 

1 would that I could feel how great ye be, 
That I could follow where your calm invites, 
And when your brows the awful tempest smites 

Be part of all I can but dimly see. 

What might I not attain could I partake 
The still serene of your uplifted hours, 
The godlike freedom of your liberal airs! 
Ye, ye could teach me how I might forsake 

The gloom that deadens man's divinest powers, 
And all the folly of his vain despairs ! 

16th Oct, 1897 

201 



SPIRITUAL PROMPTINGS 

Whence do they come — this visionary train 
Of thoughts so brightly, so divinely drest, 
That they their own unworldly birth attest, 

And yield to man immeasurable gain? 

These are not of the sense, nor of the pain 
That seeks to draw, with labour and unrest, 
The stubborn word from out its hidden nest 

In some mysterious chamber of the brain. 

Hence unto us may wealth untold belong! 

What poet's heart would ever dare despise 
The soundless voices ringing in his ear, 
The sudden lights so exquisitely clear, 

The mystic thoughts that whisper as they rise, 
And still monitions murm'ring into song! 

20th Feb., 1905 



ETERNAL HARMONY 

Through all life's discord runs a golden thread 
Of harmony divine: do thou beware, 
Lest in the rude resounding of thy care 

The music vanish, and the song be dead. 

Dull souls there be that thro' the woodland tread, 
And never catch the voices in the air, 
Nor heed the grasses' melodies, nor share 

The sweet bird-notes that warble overhead! 

We should be wrapt in music, could we stand 
Enough apart to hear the mighty roll 
Of the great waves that reach the central goal, 

Where sits the One beneath whose master hand 
The keys of life yield up their murm'rous toll, 

And meet and merge in diapason grand ! 

29th June, 1907 

202 



POETIC INSIGHT 

The poet is the seer; he perceives 

The life that is in all things, rinding food 
For thought and hope in the waste solitude, 

And myriad friends among the summer leaves. 

To him Existence brings her ripest sheaves 
In rich profusion; every human mood 
Stands out before him carven in the nude, 

And pours its soul into the song he weaves. 

Poor he may be, unhonour'd, unbefriended, 
Like Tasso victim of a tyrant's nod, 

Perchance the jest of brainless underlings; 
His grave may lie unknown and untended, 
Yet has he voyaged where no foot has trod, 
And gaz'd upon unutterable things! 

Uth Nov., 1898 



THE MIND'S SOVEREIGNTY 

Man's body is in bondage, foot and hand, 
To time and place, and other men's desires: 
Not so his mind, whose bright ethereal fires 

Roll round the world from where he needs must 
stand. 

Tho' poor in outward potency, how grand 
This creature of dull rounds and set attires 
In inward majesty! What he admires 

Comes on the wings of thought at his command ! 

So is he free, free as the rushing wind 
That over mighty provinces and seas 

Holds unobstructed passage. None can bind 
What is immortal in its energies, 

And in its end divine. He then is blind 
Who is not king whenever he may please! 

19th June, 1885 



THE BAGPIPES 

My heart goes dancing when it hears the drone 

Of Scottish pipes ! Rude music it may be, 

But there is life in its intensity, 
And manly inspiration in each tone. 
Like bracing winds from off the heather blown, 

The pibroch sounds its martial minstrelsy; 

And soft as mists that gather o'er the lea, 
The dead-march mingles with the mourner's groan. 

What solemn strains ! What joyful airs they play ! 
They sound thro' ancient story, and long since, 
They thrill with sadness, and with fire endow ! 
Full loud they sang on many a glorious day, 
They cheer'd the Bruce, they hail'd the Bonnie 
Prince, 
And mov'd to tears the heroes of Lucknow ! 

26th Dec, 1901 



VERBAL PURITY 

Words are not playthings to be idly flung 

From mouth to mouth, or pour'd upon the page 
In reckless humour, hoping to engage 

Some fluttering thought their tangled web among. 

How often has the scholar's heart been wrung 
With utterance rude and wanton, and the sage 
Stood all aghast, or heard with hidden rage 

The desecration of our English tongue! 

And yet it seems but little understood 

How great the folly, and how small the wit ! 

Two things there are, pre-eminently good, 

Should keep our English ever pure and fair — 
The noble phrasing of the Holy Writ, 

And rhythmic beauty of the Common Prayer! 

8th Feb., 1902 



SING, BIRD OF PROMISE 

Sing, bird of promise, in the darkness sing! 

The night is slowly rounding to the dawn, 

And feather'd hopes, within their nests with- 
drawn, 
Are dreaming visions of the joyful Spring. 
Now, faintly heard there comes a murmuring 

Like breezes waking in some upland lawn; 

And grey light flushing, now the dark is gone, 
Outspreads its soft illuminating wing. 

Hope on, toiler! There are heavenly lays 
Whose music yet shall feast thy hungry ears; 
Be thou no minion of the incomplete! 
Lest all the golden fruitage of thy days 
Turn into ashes, and the wither'd years 

Drop one by one like dead leaves at thy feet ! 

18th March, 1902 

MOTHER NATURE 

Dear mother Nature, in thy calm retreats 
How soon forgot the follies of mankind ! 
How glad the soul, to restful thought inclin'd, 

Beholds thy train of never-ending sweets! 

Here holy Peace with Meditation meets, 
And leaves the turmoil of the world behind, 
And listens, musing, to the gentle wind 

That soft and low its tranquil hymn repeats. 

Time can not mar the beauty of thy face, 

Nor Sorrow change thee. Therefore art thou 
dear 

To noble minds, that love in thee to trace 
Reflections caught from a diviner sphere; 

To whom dishonour is the one disgrace, 
And loss of truth the only woe to fear! 

26th June, 1906 

205 



THE HOSPITABLE MIND 

Securely fix'd where tidal rise and fall 
An ample measure of the deep retains, 
Lo! a broad haven that serenely reigns 

Above the waves' interminable call. 

Here come the ships, the mighty and the small, 
Urged by the tempest o'er the watery plains; 
Shelter'd, they pass away — but still remains 

The same broad haven that has welcom'd all. 

Yet vessels labour close by rocky shores, 
And yearn for refuge from a stormier sea, 
A wider, darker, more tumultuous waste; 
But only minds with faith securely based, 
That hold no quarrel with diversity, 
To these will open hospitable doors ! 

7th Dec, 1905 

PYGMALION 

'With many a yearning sigh and fervent prayer, 
Goddess of Beauty ! I have sought thine aid, 
That this my handiwork, this ivory maid, 

Might live and breathe, my lonely lot to share: 

Yet of thy favour I almost despair, 

For still she stands in lifeless charm array 'd, 
Fair as a lily, mystic as a shade, 

But all unmeet for love's adoring care!' 

So spake the sculptor, as he gaz'd intent 
With sorrowing eye and spirit inly bow'd, 
A world of sadness in his face exprest; 
When lo! there comes a sweet astonishment, 
As, softly flushing like a sun-kiss'd cloud, 
She moves, she sighs! — He clasps her to his 
breast ! 

2nd April, 1902 



AN AMPLER AGE 

The guardian years in their predestin'd hoard 
New splendours cherish for the rip'ning Man, 
And full and bounteous the unfolding plan, 

Like volum'd music from the organ pour'd. 

The fiery flames that round the world have roar'd, 
Which even now the winds of custom fan, 
Shall blind no longer king or artisan, 

Nor Peace shall suffer War's impetuous sword. 

What realms of opportunity are ours ! 

Forms that have mock'd the visionary past, 
And summits near'd for which the race has 
striven; 
The gathering might of long-bewilder'd powers, 
Thoughts wing'd with knowledge traversing the 
vast, 
And dreams that hover on the verge of heaven ! 

Hth April, 1902 

THE SMILE OF TIME 

Out of the misty Past, with hollow tread, 
The Ages march: and lo! the youthful Day, 
The Week, the Month, the Year, the Century 
grey; 

Ancients in gold and purple habited, 

And Modern Thought with high uplifted head; 
Timbrels and Dances, Tragedy and Play; 
And mighty Captains with their stern array, 

And woeful Mourners wailing for the dead ! 

All these and more, a vast assemblage, seem 
To merge in one, like some huge cloud that 
throws 
Its shadow downward, floating on the while: 
Slowly the pageant passes like a dream, 
And on the long procession Time bestows 
His kindly, sad, compensatory smile! 

20th Nov., WOJf. 

207 



THE WOODLANDS 

Some joys are of our being. Let me die 
When I no longer can the woodlands pace 
With a glad heart and an uplifted face, 

Nor look upon them with a reverent eye. 

Voices inhabit here; the mystery 

That is the soul of all things, in this place 
Hath a most solemn and attractive grace, 

A mingled music of the earth and sky. 

Shadow and light is its eternal theme, 
And all its wealth of leafy harmonies 
Sings of the happy spirit of content; 
Content that life may recognize the dream 
That lies about it, and in all degrees 
Submit to heaven's wise arbitrament! 

27th Sept., 1901 



THE INWARD GRACE 

All outward things conceal an inward worth, 
A hidden grace, an elemental power, 
For the high heaven has vouchsaf 'd to dower 

With full response the sacramental earth. 

The world has been all holy from its birth, 

And moves majestic thro' each troublous hour, 
And clear, as hangs the dew-drop on the flower, 

Sings its own song of mystery and mirth. 

The ears that can not hear are deaf indeed, 

The eyes that can not see are more than blind, 
The soul unmov'd an isolation bare : 
However learn'd, one book he can not read 
To whom the hills are mute, and the rich wind 
With all its music but an empty air ! 

2nd Oct., 1900 

208 



MY LADY HOPE 

Softly I laid my hand upon her own, 

And said, 'O light and loveliness combin'd ! 
Thou art the very mirror of my mind, 

On which the fairest of my dreams are thrown. 

Still nearer unto thee my soul has grown 
Amid the beating of life's bitter wind : 
Be thou for ever sweet, for ever kind, 

And nevermore shall I be found alone !' 

So did I speak to one who understood 

The halting strain in which I sang her praise, 
And smil'd upon me ere my song began; 
And much that might be evil now is good, 
And on I march to meet embattled days 

With Hope's white banner streaming in the 
van! 

Hth Jan. 1900 

BUOYANT 

O happy he who to himself can say : 

Though that I lov'd the best I have not won, 
No clouds he thick between me and the sun, 

Shutting the genial radiance from the day : 

No grim regrets on my horizon stay 

Mocking the shadows of the things undone, 
Tho' much, alas, has never been begun, 

And much begun has vanished away ! 

Dreary the soul of him who can not bind 
New armour on to meet the smiling morn, 
And think fresh thoughts, and young endeav- 
ours call; 
For every day there blows another wind, 
And other souls and other flowers are born, 
And Heaven alone is always over all! 

1st Oct, 1899 

209 



THE MAIDEN 

How sweet she comes along the rose-clad way, 
Where every blushing blossom blushes more 
To see her pass, and trembles to the core 

With sheer delight if but her step delay ! 

Dreams may be sweet as happy dreamers say, 
But dreams like this are visionary store 
Which the soul treasures, ever pondering o'er 

Each blissful feature, each resplendent ray. 

How sweet she comes! We linger, lest we lose 
One little grace of all the graceful show 
That whispers soft of purity within. 
God grant thee strength, dear maiden, so to use 
Thy wealth of charms, that thou may'st never 
know 
The taint of evil or the soil of sin ! 

22nd July, 1899 



THE TWO DREAMS 

Two dreams there are — the one of common things 
That round us whirl, and make our common 

day; 
The other of the veiled Far-away 

That rolls upon us, as the murmurings 

Of some great wind that through the forest flings 
In organ tones its royal roundelay : 
Two dreams there are that ever with us stay, 

And one is sad, and one forever sings ! 

Yea, one is sad, and flutters like a bird 

With wounded wing, that may no longer dare 
The height and glory of the firmament; 
And one, by strains of heavenly music stirr'd, 
Finds all its rapture in the viewless air, 

And sunward striving makes its glad ascent! 

26th May, 1901 

210 



DISEMBODIED 

They call the mystic mad, who never knew 
The glory of a thought; whose eyes are bent 
On dull observance, narrow discontent, 

And hope whose very essence is untrue. 

Yet there are moments when the chosen few, 
The few whose larger soul has kept unspent 
The rapture of divine astonishment, 

Are caught away the universe to view ! 

Afar from all the littleness of man, 

His bitter toil, his ever-wavering mind, 
His cry for vantage, and his plea for grace, 
In happy self -abstraction they may scan 

The breathing vast, the boundless unconfin'd, 
Serene and disembodied for a space ! 

25th May, 1901 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 

Save in the golden moment of the noon 
Sunshine and Shadow travel hand in hand, 
As pilgrims wand'ring in some haunted land 

Link'd close together steal by wood and dune. 

And if the Sunshine we account a boon, 

Yet would the Shadow from our path command, 
How comes it then we fail to understand 

Why thorns should deck the rosy wreath of June? 

We know not, nor the reason can explore 
Why Pleasure still finds Sorrow at the door, 

Why Youth and Age are comrades in the tomb, 
And sweetest music wakens bitterest woes; 
Yet if the Shadow with the Sunshine goes, 

Why should life's joy be innocent of gloom? 

Uth Dec, 1904- 

211 



GOOD ANGELS 

Could we but see them as they move around 
Our path, and smooth the rough unequal ways 
Thro' which the winding tenour of our days 

Goes surely on to its allotted bound, 

We should be fill'd with gratitude profound, 
Wonder and awe and an abiding praise, 
And that which most the thoughtful soul doth 
raise, 

A calm unbroken, with assurance crown'd. 

Yet there are moments when we feel you near, 
Ye guardian Spirits ! when before the eye 
The sudden flashing of your snowy wings 
An instant shines; and we are fain to hear 
Celestial music, strains that will not die, 
Nor fade away in vague imaginings. 

20th July, 1901 



THE EAR OF SOLITUDE 

Amid the clash and clangour that beset 

The ways of men, and filch their golden hours, 
There still are some a sense sublimer dowers 

With large perception and divine regret : 

Not many are they, and but rarely met, 

Yet they, in wordless things as trees and flowers, 
Find friends, and wander into dreamland bowers 

And there in peace the giddy whirl forget. 

Lo ! Silence sings to him who loves her grace, 
In sorrow's mist or when his heart rejoices, 
For songs there be that all but thought elude : 
Who hath a soul above the commonplace, 
He only knows the music of the voices 
That whisper in the ear of solitude ! 

lJfit Nov., 1900 



CHEERFULNESS 

Right happy he who finding gladness less 
Slakes gladness more by inward alchemy, 
Tuning his heart to wider harmony, 

To strains beyond what common joys possess. 

Little indeed the sullen soul can guess 

How swift and sweet the sunward change can be, 
The change that owes its origin to thee, 

Unnoted oft, O modest Cheerfulness! 

Still be it mine with every toil to blend 

The balm of thought, with every gloom a ray 
Of that serenest faith which smiles at woe; 
To be Care's freedman, Hope's responsive friend, 
Never too sad to brighten with the day, 
Or sing self -emptied where the roses blow. 

23rd May, 1899 



REVERE THE MUSE 

Revere the Muse, O poet : let thy lute 

Hang by the wall unfinger'd and unstrung, 
Till Faith awaken and inspire thy tongue, 

And Fancy grieve to find her poet mute. 

For heavenly light seek thou no substitute, 
No wanton hand upon the chords be flung; 
Be thine no lay by idle revellers sung, 

No vulgar ditty piped on shepherd's flute. 

Respect thyself; and whatsoe'er thy strain, 
Let it be like the spring that bubbles up 
From earth's fair bosom open to the sky : 
Scorn thou the flatterer's praise, the worlding's gain ; 
Let Truth to thee present her golden cup, 
So shalt thou sing the songs that may not die ! 

13th Jan., 1905 

213 



THE CAVERN 

Enter, and all is dimness, bower'd o'er 

With shades of desolation. Darkness springs 
On glooms half-darken'd, and the whole enrings 

With deep'ning night that thickens evermore : 

A doleful spot, a place where terrors roar 
In guilty ears their fierce imaginings; 
And yet the sunlight from its golden wings 

Sheds gleams of beauty on the dismal floor! 

So light may steal to him whose thoughts begrime 
All that his fancy pictures, till no nook 
Is left whereon a cloudless sun may rise; 
Or him, the blameful prodigal of time, 

Who lets the days go by, nor heeds the look 
That shines so still in their reproachful eyes ! 

16th May, 1902 



BEWARE 

Beware, O trav'ler midst the smiles and tears 
Of busy Time, lest outward cares benumb 
Thine inward sense, and that large speech grow 
dumb 

Which still should find admittance to thine ears. 

Deem it no story that the distant spheres 
Breathe music, clear at intervals to some, 
Or that from shadowy silences there come 

Voices and greetings to the mind that hears. 

Yet never soul that has no vision caught 
Of things unseen, nor dimly understands 
Life's weird surprises, nor her deep explores, 
Can tell how many are the waves of thought 
That roll afar, and with their vibrant hands 
Reach boldly out, and touch mysterious shores ! 

27th Dec, 1902 

214 



REGRET 

In guise of rosy Youth that can not fail, 
She comes a dreamful visitant; her eyes 
Are tender as the light of summer skies 

When evening falls; and soft as clouds that sail 

With easy grace before the gentle gale, 
I hear her voice like music fall and rise : 
And then the years, with all their gather 'd cries, 

Rush trooping past, like hounds upon the trail ! 

Ah me! for all that might have been; for all 
That was not save in fancy's fairy realm, 
Yet, faintly footing, follow'd day by day. 
And days to come shall hear those footsteps fall, 
And wait, in faith no shadow can o'erwhelm, 
The compensation of the Far-away ! 

8th July, 1906 



HOW LIFE SHALL SMILE 

All things that live are in their place content, 
Save man alone: the bird, the beast, the flower, 
Know not the grief of one mistrustful hour, 

To every call they yield a glad assent. 

The bird is happy in the firmament, 
The beast rejoices in its proper power, 
The lily sighs not for the rose's dower, 

Man only murmurs as his days are spent. 

Take then thy lot, whatever it may be, 

And make it thine by choice; so shalt thou reap 
The harvest of good deeds and quiet sleep, 

And thoughts whose garment is tranquillity: 
Fear God, and love thy fellowman, and keep 

Thy soul serene, and life shall smile for thee ! 

16th June, 1904 

215 



THE BRITON 

Wherever shines the sun or blows the wind, 
There stands the Briton, dominant and cool; 
His native energy, he puts to school 

In every clime, and what he wills to find 

That finds he still, whoe'er may lag behind. 
Failure is but a step to loftier rule, 
For he knows none; yet no hot-headed fool 

Is he, but man of reasonable mind. 

And therefore has his little Isle become 
A heart imperial, and its every beat 

In royal waves around the globe is hurl'd : 
The sunrise dances to his morning drum, 
Eve hears his deep farewell, and all replete 
With will and hope he strides around the 
world ! 

25th Oct., 1905 



THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN 

Lo, it is coming! But it shall not be 

With pride, and pomp, and glare of circumstance, 
But like the dream that steals upon the trance 

Of one who muses by a summer sea. 

Little by little will the shadows flee, 

Slowly but surely o'er the world's expanse, 
Till in the blessed moment of a glance 

The vision shall become reality. 

Yea, it is coming — that divinest plan 

Which shall at last set every creature free; 
The light of love behind the cloud of crime, 
The sunshine of the brotherhood of man, 
The meaning of that flood of mystery 
For ever moaning on the shores of Time! 

16th Oct., 1905 

216 



SERENE OLD AGE 

Between two hills that overlook the deep 
I saw the Day his reverend head decline, 
Soft as the shadows o'er the fair design 

Of some bright garden to the eastward creep. 

The waves had ceas'd to thunder and to leap, 
The mellow airs were breathing low and fine, 
The birds were nestled in the shelt'ring vine, 

The leaves were folding to their silken sleep. 

Life's pilgrim thus to portals open wide, 
A trav'ler nearing home pursues his way, 
Unmov'd by gain, and careless of display : 

Calmly he enters on the scene untried, 
And passes slowly, like a summer's day, 

Into the quiet of the eventide ! 

21st Nov., 1905 



DEATH 

There is a silence in the hearts of men 

When Death comes by and takes his solemn place, 
And slowly o'er the unregardful face 

Draws the sad veil that none may lift again. 

How sudden is the silence ! Thought and pen 
Are stricken mute; yet in the air we trace 
Like spirit-forms each well-remember'd grace, 

So precious now, so oft forgotten then ! 

O Silence ! thou canst utter more than speech, 
When, with thy finger laid upon thy lips, 
Thou pointest to the burthen of the years 
At last unshoulder'd — meaning thus to teach 
Of life's presumptuous cares the sure eclipse, 
The calm beyond the valley of its tears! 

Uth May, 1899 

217 



THE GOLDEN MEAN 

Who is so strong that he can always find 

The golden mean, and seated in control, 

The elemental forces of the soul 
Drive like a chariot to the end design'd? 
Some overshoot the mark; some fall behind, 

And, distanced, murmur at the wish'd-for goal; 

While sure and swift the few calm-hearted roll 
On to success, and banners kiss the wind ! 

Yet none is alway victor; none can think 
Or act as ever to escape the wrong, 

To win the laurel, or to drain the sweet : 
Life holds for all some bitter cup to drink, 
Yet who is ever temperate and strong 
Remains unconquer'd, even in defeat! 
28th April, 1901 

THE SPHERE BEYOND 

I call him poor indeed who does not know 
What 'tis from human turmoil to retire, 
And in the rapture of that inward fire, 

Whereon the winds of inspiration blow, 

Live the intenser life, and feel the glow 
That sorrowing hearts and weary souls desire; 
On wings of glory ever soaring higher 

Than mountains crown'd with the eternal snow. 

I take no counsel of the dull advice 

That deems such hours the common sense de- 
stroy, 
And knows no wit unmix'd with earthly 
leaven : 
For me they make a very paradise — 

The dreams that are the harbingers of joy, 
The thoughts that quiver in the light of 
heaven ! 
25th Oct, 1904 

218 



THE SIMPLE LIFE 

How comes it, feather'd forester, that thou 
Amongst thy kindred findest such delight, 
That with untroubled breast and visage bright 

Thou singest glad upon the swaying bough? 

What genial spirit doth thy frame endow, 

And keep thee glad from morning until night, 
While that strange being, thy superior hight, 

Still walks the earth with care-encumber'd brow? 

It is because the heart within thee has 

For things forbidden no desire to long, 

It nothing knows to crave for or exclude : 

Thou art content — and so it comes to pass 

The man is lonely in the city's throng, 

The bird is happy in the solitude ! 

29th May, 1906 



ON THE SURFACE 

We sport upon the surface, like the flies 
That skim the water in the sultry noon, 
And this we count a sorrow, that a boon, 

This a dear kindness, that a strange surprise. 

How various the soul looks thro' our eyes! 
What differing stops, too many out of tune, 
We touch within the changes of a moon, 

All petty agents of great destinies ! 

Ah, could we hear sublimely as He hears 
Whose ear is ever open, we should know 

How out of discord harmony appears, 
Light out of darkness, glory out of woe, 
And catch above the thunderous overflow 

The sweet unbroken music of the spheres ! 

5th July, 1883 

219 



GLIMPSES OF TRUTH 

Life is so full of hindrances, that half 

Man's days are spent in bidding hope be strong: 

So much of serious dwindles to a song, 
So much of solid ends in empty chaff, 
He knows not whether to be sad or laugh, 

To grasp the mocking joy, or mourn the wrong; 

Or like a Muslim, rush into the throng, 
And in all faces wave Fate's autograph! 

So days, and months, and years go trooping by 
Dream-shadowed, like a thunder-storm at night, 
Which brings a deeper darkness with its light, 

To blot its revelations from the eye; 

We see, and tho' perchance we see aright, 

'Tis but a glimpse — a glimpse of earth or sky ! 

21st Jan., 1885 



THE GOOD MAN'S HEART 

How truly is the good man's heart his home ! 

It sings him songs when all around is dark; 

It shuts the door upon the dogs that bark 
At honest merit; an expansive dome 
It broadens upward; if perchance he roam 

Where tumult reigns supreme, it is his ark, 

And bears him into port, where he may mark, 
Secure from harm, the seething of the foam. 

It is a royal castle and domain, 

Whose mighty walls are proof against the foe; 
His choicest treasures there he doth retain, 

Save that which Love demands as overflow; 
True sorrow beats not on his door in vain, 

And from his presence none less happy go ! 

6th Oct., 188S 

220 



THE MARCH OF PROGRESS 

To win the perfect goal we may not haste, 
Nor grasp at wisdom, till she choose to bend 
To that design tow'rd which our hearts extend 

Across the wide illimitable waste, 

The wine of golden light we yearn to taste 
Is pour'd out only at the journey's end, 
And with that journey many a life may blend 

Its fire and blood, by laurel never graced. 

Yet still the march is onward ! Up the shore 
Of human progress tow'rd the distant shrine, 

A waveful tide, the generations pour; 

Till some strong hand, with energy divine, 
The chalice seizes with its sparkling wine — 

Then all the vintage praise, and thirst for more ' 

9th Oct., 1883 



CUMBROUS POMP 

For me let none the cumbrous pomp prepare 
That Fashion loves. The calmer life be mine, 
That feeds its aspirations at the shrine 

Of liberal Nature. Let me breathe the air 

Fresh from the skies, or fed with odours rare 
Of the sweet grasses or the spicy pine, 
Or that which blowing o'er the salt sea-brine 

Its cheery laughter to the heart can bear. 

Truth's darling daughter is Simplicity, 
Whose perfect beauty guileless art desires, 

And guileful folly scorns. To hear, to see, 
And chief be seen, the low ambition fires, 
But humble wisdom fron the crowd retires, 

To learn a more divine philosophy! 

15th Oct., 1883 



THE LOVE OF FAME 

Count not the love of honest fame a snare; 
It is the ornament of worth, and brings 
To him who still, by word or action, sings 

The larger life mid this world's narrowing care, 

A taste of that he ever longs to share. 
But seek it not with feeble murmur ings, 
Nay, seek it not at all, until it springs 

The blossom bright that pregnant seed shall bear. 

Then wear it humbly, as a noble king 

His natural crown, with self-denying pride, 

For in itself it is an empty thing, 

Not worth the seeking. In thy lot abide 

Content to labour, till thy labour bring 
The fruit whereby thou shalt be justified. 

17th Oct., 1883 



PETTINESS 

We miss the calmness, and the rapture too, 
That dwell in things around, because we see 
The difference only, not the harmony, 

For ever to the larger life untrue. 

We fail to sweep the broader, lovelier view, 
Because some little mound's immensity 
Uprears its bulk before our cheated eye; 

One cloud, if near, will quickly blot the blue. 

And so, with hearts unquiet, aims distrest, 
Pulses that flutter, hopes that are undone, 
We reel about beneath the gentle sun 

That slides each day so softly to the west, 
Each purpose darken'd ere it be begun, 

And we, for all our efforts, still unblest! 

3rd Nov., 1883 



THE STEEP ASCENT 

This life the pagan call'd "a shuddering thing," 
And many a lofty soul, serenely great, 
Has found not all untrue his estimate. 

All up the steep of years sharp echoes ring 

Like voices mid the rocks, and backward fling 
Sad jangling discords inarticulate, 
Cries that like wounded birds bewail their fate, 

And tones that sob altho' they seem to sing ! 

More lonely ever mid the careless crowd 

The thoughtful heart moves on, and finds its 
way 

Still more and more a path beneath the cloud, 
Where human loves unwilling are to stay : 
Yet kindly angels point the glimmering Day, 

And seraphs whisper to the soul unbow'd ! 

6th Nov., 1883 

LIGHT-SEEKERS 

Children at best they are, that for a prize 

Which is not worth the winning, toil and sweat 
Thro' joy-repelling years; their one regret 

That they have toil'd too little — tho' their eyes 

Are fever 'd with pursuit. How wondrous wise 
Was he who said that nothing new is met 
Beneath the sun — nothing to hope or get 

Outside the circle of dull vanities. 

'Tis even so : all things are shaken down 
To one low level, where the many march 

With stolid tread, unmindful of renown, 

Content their hearts to drug, their souls to 

parch; 
While the rapt few who see the glowing arch 

That signals heaven, tremble for their crown ! 

9th Nov., 1883 



IMAGINATION 

Whate'er I lack of fortune, friends, or place, 

Imagination's holy light is mine: 

A gift no wealth could tempt me to resign; 
For round my life is spread a royal space, 
Where Hope and Beauty, Tenderness and Grace 

For my rapt eyes a paradise design, 

So that I step into a land divine, 
And hide from Sorrow my transfigur'd face ! 

Dear God! I thank thee; for the ways are dim, 
And hearts that feel beneath the burden tire, 
And in the heat of their unfed desire 

Sink down and die amid the shadows grim; 
But mist nor rain can quench the inward fire, 

Nor mortal discord mar the heavenly hymn ! 

9th Nov., 1883 



IN TUNE 

Right happy he, in spite of baser leaven, 

Seething and working in his labouring breast, 
Turning his good to ill, ease to unrest, 

Who looks with honest eye from earth to heaven: 

Who to rude rage has ever battle given, 
Abash'd resolve still bringing to the test; 
Gentle, yet firmly strong; and for the rest, 

Holding his soul above — a thing unriven ! 

To him alone life's voices are not cries 
Of inarticulate pain; to him they come 

Distinct, and songs from out the discord rise; 
Sharp fife, and mellow horn, and thunderous 
drum, 

And deep bassoon, his ear attentive tries, 

Takes note, and mingling, finds the tuneful sum ! 

28th Nov., 1883 



CONTEMPLATION 

As one who from a balcony descries 

A vast procession, asks from whence it comes 
And whither goes — what time the pounding 
drums 

With beat mechanic mark the minstrelsies — 

Yet greatly cares not for the separate cries, 

What shout Pride loves or Envy's ear benumbs, 
But their up-gather'd meaning only sums, 

So this world's jangle Contemplation tries. 

She sits apart, herself a sovereign calm, 

Round which the wild wind whistles, vainly 
rude; 

'Mid thunders' crash she sings a quiet psalm, 
And finds a world amid the solitude; 

From Folly's quarrels she extracts a balm, 
And walks abroad a goddess unsubdued ! 

30th Dec, 1883 

MEMORIES OF YOUTH 

They come not back, those care-uncumber'd hours, 
When Youth, light-footed, o'er the meadows 

stept, 
Joy-haunted the day long; then calmly slept, 

In fragrance folded like the sleeping flowers. 

O days of innocence amid the bowers, 
When golden wonder from each object leapt, 
As tho' but holiday the wide world kept, 

And held its pleasures at the beck of ours ! 

Too soon ye vanish, passing like the light 
Of summer's bloom into the autumn haze, 

And solemn darkness of the winter night: 
Yet as sweet odours scent the public ways 

From happy gardens hidden out of sight, 
So memory wafts those unreturning days! 

lJfth March, 1884 

225 



THE TYRANNY OF THINGS 

Sadly I mark the ever-restless tide 
Of hurrying men impatient of repose : 
The child of Thought an idler seems to those 

Who all but outward energy deride, 

Yet he who thinks is in his place allied 

To Him from whom the whole creation flows; 
The mighty hammer beats with thunderous 
blows, 

But beats alone where Mind has signified ! 

He is a slave who cramps his high estate - 

Into the narrow tyranny of things; 

But least of all can he be slave who sings; 
He must have freedom ere he can relate 

What Heaven would teach of being's noblest 
springs, 
Of all that makes God's image wise and great. 

27th July, 188k 

MENS SIBI CONSCIA RECTI 

What others think concerns thee not; thou hast 
Thyself to build by honour's strictest plan, 
And honour's name is ever gentleman: 

Who owns it, wheresoe'er his lot be cast, 

In quiet self-respect is rooted fast; 

No pomp he needs his steady fire to fan, 
Whether he win or fail, as he began 

So ends he, calmly, without trumpet-blast. 

Could we but feel how grand it is to be 
And not to seem, we should not waste our years 
In foolish strifes that end in bitter tears, 

Nor barter peace for notoriety; 

Nor dull that inward sense with outward fears 

Which echoes back the eternal harmony ! 

25th July, 1884 



SUMMER 

O that the summer ever might be here, 

With all its wealth of life, and light, and flower, 
Its freshening morning breath, its twilight hour 

When happy hearts make music in my ear. 

This season is the time when thought severe 
Wears meditation's mantle; when the power 
Of outward sense the inward sense doth dower 

With all that is most exquisitely dear. 

Would that the summer in my heart might be 
Like this without, that never chill might fall 

Upon the pathway of serenity; 

Nor love grow cold, nor speech be smirch'd with 
gall, 

Nor cease to shine the visionary sea 

Where float the ships that bear my noblest all. 

18th July, 188k 

THE UNKNOWN GREAT 

The souls of all the great denied renown 
Lie under the high altar, in the place 
Where Justice sits her last decrees to trace, 

And give to each his amaranthine crown. 

For some at least there be, in field and town, 
Right noble and right worthy of the race, 
Who win no vantage here, no sign of grace, 

But in the grave unhonour'd lay them down. 

These crave no tears; for they have fought the 
fight, 
And thro' the whelming darkness toiling on 
Made the grand march, and rest among the 
flowers : 
Perchance, they enter into clearer light, 
For all the toils and anguish undergone 
In these unthankful, transitory hours ! 

7th April, 1895 

227 



A QUERY 

How happy he, sad pilgrim of the night, 

Who, spent with toil and shiv'ring with despair, 
Can shut the door upon the wrinkled Care, 

And all at once in regions of delight 

Find ample solace, and a welcome bright ! 
Is he not owner of a fortune rare, 
Who thus can breathe a soul-refreshing air, 

And hear the blissful timbrels tuned aright? 

Right happy he ! Yet, his vacation o'er, 
Does he a winner or a loser turn, 

And step again into the stormy street? 
Old Care is standing patient by the door, 
Decay uplifts her mortuary urn, 

And Sorrow paces thro' the gath'ring sleet! 

11th Feb., 1895 



RESTRAINT 

Let not the poet in his murmurous prime 
Sing his young heart into a solitude, 
But still remember that the pure and good 

Are the sole measure of the true sublime. 

Let him not build the over-gilded rhyme, 
And waste his royal wealth in wanton mood, 
But wait the perfect utterance imbued 

Beyond the rush of masquerading Time. 

O son of mystery ! O child of light ! 
Spend not thy golden affluence in vain, 
But gather all thy powers in repose : 
So shall the Muse, with free unwearied flight, 
The loftiest ramparts of thy hope attain, 

And Life with grateful sigh the volume close ! 

23rd Dec, 1894 

228 



SHAKESPEARE'S TOMB 

Whoe'er thou art that standest by this grave, 
Monarch or courtier, gentleman or clown, 
Favour 'd by fortune or by fate held down, 

Bound to the land or cradled on the wave, 

Poet or priest, philosopher or knave — 

Know that this dust is his who wears the crown 
Of all men's homage; on whom none may frown, 

However holy, eloquent, or brave. 

So tread this spot that, when thou passest on, 
The soul within thee may remember well 
The solemn moment of its reverence here : 
For he who hence departs, with nothing won 
Of nobler thought, is like a silly bell 

That beats unsounding in some airless sphere ! 

26th May, 1893 



DISSENSION 

Like children wand'ring in the woods, when Night 
Puts on her gloomy robes, so wander I, 
With many a heavy doubt and weary sigh, 

Thro' this wide world of sorrow. Brief delight 

Is part of all that mortal hopes invite, 

And therefore we, within whose bosoms lie 
Immortal aspirations, till we die 

Find not a single pleasure wholly bright ! 

The wavesroll lightly on the glist'ning beach, 
But' the rude winds with rough and surly tongue 

Chide the proud billows, till their angry speech 

Makes every concord dumb. Thus Passion's arts 
Breed fierce dissension gentlest souls among, 

And;plant division 'twixt united hearts. 

Dec, 1866 

229 



ORBIS TERRARUM INNOCENS 

Were this world sinless, what a world 'twould be! 

Millions of happy hearts, like butterflies 

That 'mid the fragrance of the garden rise, 

Would girdle earth with ceaseless harmony, 

And make a paradise of all we see ! 

Then would perpetual Summer 'neath the skies 

Disport her jocund train, and melodies 

Of joyful souls make an eternity 

Of music. Nought but pleasure in men's eyes, 

And gladness in their bosoms, and delight; 

Smiles following smiles, nor any weary sighs 

For love, or broken faith, or promise bright, 

Or dream of faded glory. Life would shine 

With rapture all supreme, with beauty all divine! 

May, 1867 



NAPOLEON 

A thousand ages shall thy name repeat, 
Napoleon ! with the reverence that springs 
For him whom Fortune bore upon her wings 

O'er each abyss to his predestin'd seat. 

Thy flight was like the eagle's — full, complete, 
A mighty soaring over men and things ; 
Thou wert in very truth a king of kings, 

And thrones and crowns lay scatter'd at thy feet ! 

Thou seem'dst too noble for infirmity, 

Too selfish for true grandeur; yet thy state 
Imperial was beyond all estimate. 
So in thy life's strange history we see 
What human nature in extremes may be, 
So small, and yet so marvellously great ! 

31st Oct., 1905 

230 



PAX UNIVERSA 

For peace, dear God ! we plead — in bower and wild, 
Highway and shelter'd garden, wheresoe'er 
Man bravely strives, or humbly breathes his 
prayer; 

In homes unblest, in hearts unreconcil'd; 

In all the lands by War's red heel defil'd; 
In all the haunts of human grief and care : 
Pour out that peace whose absence is despair, 

The world-wide peace on which the angels smil'd ! 

Full fierce has been the throbbing of the drum, 
And shrill the trumpet ! May we be forgiven 
The deeds that darken'd like a wintry blast; 
And hail, new-born, the happier days to come, 
Whose growing splendour, like a sunny heaven, 
Shall chase away the shadows of the past ! 

17th June, 1905 



THE BRIGHT SIDE 

To stand in dread is folly, for I trow 

The light will shine for him who will but wait, 
And have a little patience with his fate, 

And chase his cares away. Do we not know 

That sunrise will the gloomiest night o'erthrow, 
And that its coming nothing can abate? 
So be thou merry, for the meanest state 

Has something bright to promise and bestow ! 

The moon, that to our dim terrestrial eyes 

Shews but the side on which the sunbeams rest, 
Should teach us to be cheerily possest 

With that abounding hope, which sees the prize 
Within its grasp, and in that sight is blest: 

Then turn thee sunward, brother, and be wise ! 

Jan., 1906 

231 



CONFIDENCE 

Who has not felt, when in some musing hour 
He weighed the even chances of his fate, 
How rich the value of his estimate 

In silence of the future, and its power? 

What royal roses may his path embower, 
What happy concords harmonise his state, 
He knows not; yet in confidence elate 

His hand is stretch'd to pluck the splendid flower ! 

O blessed Hope ! Life were a desert drear 
Didst thou not lend us wings, whereon to fly 
Beyond the frowning barrier of the sky 

That hems us in, and makes so vain appear 
The swift delight that dances in the eye, 

And like a rainbow sparkles in the tear ! 

Uth Dec, 1906 

OUR MOTHER TONGUE 

Shame be to him who lays a ruthless hand 

On that dear language Shakespeare made divine; 

Which Milton crown'd with his majestic line, 
And kindred spirits, no unworthy band, 
Within its compass, eloquently grand, 

Their noblest thoughts have labour 'd to en- 
shrine: 

So fair and large its utterance, and so fine 
The lights and shadows that its tones command. 

Its words, its very letters, are alive! 

They soothe, they burn, they blush, they pal- 
pitate, 

They smile and frown, they laugh and weep 
and sing, 
And honey 'd treasures in their breathings hive. 
W T ho would this living creature mutilate 

Contempt and failure on his head shall bring ! 

12th April, 1906 

232 



PROVIDENCE 

Stand in the midst, O son of prose or rhyme, 
Point to the thronging nations, and declare 
What thou hast found in all thy seeking there 

Of deed or word that is in truth sublime. 

Were man the only arbiter, what crime, 
What sullen devastation, what despair, 
What cries, what groans, what curses every- 
where, 

While Ruin ravish'd all the realms of Time ! 

But sure it is there rules in human things 
A Power that looses all events and binds, 
Supremely throned while mortals wake or 
sleep. 
Ev'n thus the runnel from a rock that springs 
On some far distant hill, the pathway finds 
That leads it on triumphant to the deep! 

24th Sept., 1904 

EBB AND FLOW 

The soul within us never is at stay : 
It glows and darkens, it delights and grieves, 
Sleeps like the sunshine, like the billow heaves, 

And now it smiles, and now its face is grey. 

So are we troubled, struggle as we may, 

To keep in tune the heavenly song it weaves, 
For soon it sobs and ceases, and it leaves 

A songless silence as it ebbs away. 

But as at eve some wand'ring storm intrudes, 
And rolls its echoes far into the skies, 
The song returns — yea, listen, it is come ! 
Deep-throated now like roar of multitudes, 
Or keen as cymbals, when the music sighs 
Above the timely tumult of the drum. 

1st Dec, 1904 

233 



BESIDE THE DEAD 

I saw one standing tearless by the dead; 
Tearless without — within a world of tears, 
Mingled with shadows of the hopes and fears, 

The griefs and joys, the triumph and the dread, 

That once this gentle soul disquieted. 
Yet in her few and transitory years 
She caught at times the music of the spheres, 

And follow'd softly where the angels led. 

Now all was past that life could bring of pain, 
And all its sorrow now an empty breath, 
And all its glory but a faded flower: 
So might he well, in this so quiet hour, 
A happy definition make of death — 
To enter into Dreamland, and remain ! 

21st Oct, 190^ 



WHAT IT IS WORTH 

Well is it worth the long and dreary day 
Upon the dull sad level — to arise 
With sudden exultation to the skies, 

That only now did seem so far away; 

To be one moment in the mist that lay 

So deadly deep — and then, without surprise, 
To feel the sunlight flashing in the eyes, 

And all existence radiant as the May ! 

Well is it worth the turmoil and the tire, 

The scenes that sicken and the cares that gnaw, 
To be one royal hour all alone; 
The slave of none, the lord of that desire 

Which yearns to grasp the essence, and to draw 
From doleful discords one melodious tone ! 

12th Dec, 1901 



THE MARCH TO TRUTH 

Man, in the earlier ages of his spring, 
As tho' of Fortune sole ambassador, 
Would boast the glory of his witless war, 

And summon all to view his triumphing, 

Yet fail to note the one diviner thing 
He, being little, greatly struggled for, 
As but at best the humble servitor 

Who runs beside the chariot of a king. 

But, we, upon the summit of the past, 
Should win a nobler vision, holding dear 
The fruit of good men's lives, of wise men's 
thoughts, 

Of great men's aspirations, till at last — 

A grander prize than ancient Argonauts' — 
Truth in her simple majesty appear! 

7th Feb., 1902 

A RAINY DAY 

The world is weeping round me; and the skies, 
In vesture clad of melancholy grey, 
Seem to have put all happiness away, 

And gaze on earth with unillumin'd eyes; 

Their doleful dimness, like a sad surprise, 
Gives solemn warning all delight to stay, 
Till well-nigh mem'ry of the golden day 

Is lost amid a wilderness of sighs. 

Yet who shall tell me 'tis not wisdom's part 
To tender welcome to the tearful Hours 

That trail slow-footed o'er the sun-reft scene ? 

Great Nature hath her moods of mind and heart, 

And were there nought but radiancy and flowers, 

Who knows but Joy might faint upon the 

green! 

29th March, 1902 

235 



DON QUIXOTE 

Here is a tale whose sweet philosophy 

From heart and mind exacts ungrudging toll; 

Whate'er the triumph or whate'er the dole 
A proud and spotless gentleman we see. 
O rare expounder of true chivalry ! 

courteous comrade o'er the flowing bowl ! 

Uncouth yet cultur'd, craz'd yet firm of soul, 
We laugh indeed — but not, dear knight, at thee ! 

Thou teachest those whose thoughts, unlike the 
leaves, 
Bend not to every breeze that flutters round, 
How grand it is to suffer and to dare; 
We learn to gather into golden sheaves 
The faith in noble motive, the rebound 
From dark defeat, the scorn of all despair! 

16th July, 1899 

THE LARGER CHILD 

Much dwells in little; he who would be great ■ 
Must guard the balance of his heart's desires, 
Nor idly waste nor quench his youthful fires, 

Despondent never, never too elate. 

The noble spirit nobly bears its fate, 

And greatness dies when common truth retires; 
He is content who worthily aspires, 

Treasures life's simples, covets not its state. 

So grows the child : no doubt his visage spoils, 
No shadow mars the feast he comes to share; 
Old tales, re-told, their promises renew — 
The Flying Horse, poor Sindbad and his toils, 
How Mother Hubbard found the cupboard 
bare, 
Or sisters scowl'd at Cinderella's shoe! 

8th June, 1899 

236 



DISCONTENT 

Spring is the birth-time of the flowers, and lo ! 

A world out-budding. Then the Summer smiles 

Prankt in her green and gold. And then the 
aisles 
Of forest watch the jolly Autumn go 
With purple crown and wains that overflow, 

And harvest-songs that fill the echoing miles. 

Then comes old Winter, innocent of wiles, 
And Nature sleeps and so the Seasons blow. 

A happy train ! — But never happy he 

Whose heart is out of tune, and all whose 
thoughts 
Fast-married unto strange discordances, 
Cry out against the general harmony, 
And on the fairest pages scatter blots, 
Writing a vagrant "no" to every "yes." 
19th Aug., 1901 

NOT IN VAIN 

We seize not half our visions — far away 

They gleam, they flash, they fade, they disap- 
pear; 

And strains too dulcet for a mortal ear 
Die on the winds as heavenly sweet as they. 
In vain the soul's unshrinking powers essay 

The mystic heights that shew divinely clear; 

In vain our thoughts, in panoply severe, 
March on the ramparts of eternal Day. 

Yet not in vain ! For so deliverance comes 
From the bare reaches of the commonplace, 
The dismal desolations where no dream 

Waves its white wings, where every view benumbs. 
Thus have we eyes to see and minds to trace, 
Tho' groping still behind the things that seem ! 

20th Aug., 1899 



THE VOICE SERENE 

The mighty poet dwelleth in the calm, 
For he, unvex'd, with ever open ear, 
The vast mysterious harmony can hear 

That rolls through ether an heroic psalm. 

Into his heart it falls, a healing balm, 
A royal music, ever bringing near 
The tranquil thoughts that spread from sphere 
to sphere, 

Broad in their leafage as the sheltering palm. 

And when he sings, he sings as one who dwells 
On mountain tops above the roaring waters, 
The groaning thunders and the hurrying 
winds: 
Serene he sits what time the tempest yells, 

And his clear voice unto earth's sons and daugh- 
ters 
Sounds like a trumpet unto captive minds ! 

13th Aug., 1899 

DEVELOPMENT 

Time wounds, yet Time his saddest wounding heals, 
And trains and mellows, not makes young again; 
The storm that tears the tresses of the glen 

Rolls out into the distance, and reveals 

A stillness sweeter for its thunder-peals : 
So the clear spirit finds a season when, 
A pendulum betwixt the souls of men, 

It swings, and each the fine attraction feels. 

Wider the human reaches than we deem, 
Wider and deeper, into regions far, 
Beyond the puny circle of our pains : 
Let us believe the glory that we dream, 
Let us look upward, and from star to star 
Pass on into the fulness that remains ! 

25th Oct, 1899 

238 



THE CHAIN OF PURPOSE 

God is above, the Maker, the Sublime, 
And the All-loving : His the only plan 
To which all plans converge; He touches man, 

And is Himself the Type tow'rd which to climb. 

For Him the bells of being ring their chime; 

For Him the thoughts of men, from clan to clan, 
From age to age, their little cycles span, 

And beat with deeds upon the shield of Time. 

So are we serving, even when we think 
We are alone the arbiters. We strike — 

The blow resounds, but where its echoes fall 
We may not know : we forge it link by link, 
The chain of purpose, which is wound alike 
Round him whose cup is honey or is gall. 

31st Oct., 1899 

THE HEIGHTS 

The soul that shrinks, yet does not shrink thro' 
fear; 
The fine contempt that makes for charity, 
Caring so little for the things that be, 

So much for that which is unshapen here; 

The heart, whose very grace may seem severe 
To eyes that catch no fringe of mystery 
Round life's hard-visag'd coast and heaving 
sea — 

These breathe the air of a diviner sphere ! 

Yet fare they not as those who pace the round 

Of life's dim ways, with no ambition fir'd 
Save that which finds its goal in touch or sound, 
Or visible expression. Hope's rebound 

Smites like a mace, and heights the most de- 

sir'd 
Are won, if won at all, on ruffled wings and 
tir'd! 
25th Nov., 1883 

239 



TIRESOME JOYS 

Weep not for him denied the gilded toys 
The world exalts, and still, in jester's guise, 
Keeps dangling in her rapt disciples' eyes : 

Lighter than flying froth these tiresome joys ! 

Weep not for him who 'scapes the troublous noise 
Of streets, where pride with scented folly vies, 
And hideous passions, garmented in lies, 

The pomp display that captures and destroys. 

He, wanting these, is in that want most blest, 
If in himself he hath a goodly store 
Of manly wit and well-digested lore, 

Which as he will he can make manifest; 
Content all things to love, his God adore, 

And eager only for the pure and best. 

22nd Oct, 1883 

THE LEAVES OF JUNE 

How happy-seeming are the leaves of June; 

They breathe, they bask, they quiver with de- 
light 
Thro' all the golden day and mellow night, 
Lull'd by soft airs and never out of tune. 
Day brings them sunny dreams; but when the 
moon 
Peers thro' the spreading boughs with visage 

white, 
Then all the world is fairyland, and might 
To heaviest-hearted sorrow yield a boon. 

O happy leaves, on life's sweet leisure bent, 
That turn to music every vagrant wind, 

And are so placid in your merriment 
That evermore ye satisfaction find, 
Can ye not offer man's unresting mind 

Some thought of peace, some measure of content? 

9th June, 1906 

240 



THE BUSY BEE 

Through the glad sunshine thou dost soar and 
dive, 

O happy roamer in the garden bowers; 

And here, amidst this paradise of flowers, 
'Tis surely bliss enough to be alive ! 
How sweet the labour for these sweets to strive, 

Which Heaven around thee in profusion showers, 

And yet not thine the profit of the hours, 
Thou bearest all into the common hive. 

We pace the streets of promise, and we plan 
A thousand gauds to decorate the days, 
And tempt shy merit from her solitude : 
We chase the dream success — -yet every man 
Tho' conscious master of his thoughts and ways, 
Is but a servant to the general good. 

16th March, 1906 

THE FIRST SLEEP 

When stole the gentle sleep to Adam's eyes, 
As evening fell on that fair primal day, 
When breathing bliss, he took his wondering way 

O'er the green turf, beneath the arching skies, 

Beholding still with ever new surprise 
His mother earth in all her rich array; 
What vision charm'd his slumber, as he lay 

The sovereign man alone in Paradise? 

Was it some angel, pausing on the wing 
To view the happy sleeper? Or a gleam, 
A first foreshadowing of the mystery 

That joy into his solitude would bring, 

When he no more companionless should be? — 
He woke, and round him glimmering hung the 
dream ! 

8th Jan., 1906 

241 



A MAGIC HOUR 

Here by the sea a magic hour I spend, 
Releas'd awhile from heavy-hearted care, 
And thro' the hallow'd glory of the air 

Soft- winged dreams into my soul descend. 

Now all is peace, as tho' there were no end 
To joyful ease, and one almost might dare 
To cast away remembrance, and to share 

No more the toils the hands of life extend. 

The mellow waters murm'ring at my feet 
Such music make as comes to man unsought, 
And widely opens meditation's door; 
And so, intent upon a vision sweet, 
I sit amid the sunshine of my thought, 
Too full of bliss to think of craving more ! 

25th May, 1902 



LOOKING BACKWARDS 

tender love of man, that makes the heart 
A treasury of torments and of tears, 
What dost thou gather thro' the troublous years 

But sighs and griefs, and all those griefs impart? 

What wares hast thou to furnish to the mart 
Of thy remembrance? What delight appears 
In the far past, but something interferes 

To dim the vista and revive the smart? 

And yet a touch of immortality 

Steals like a ray amid the clouds that hang 
So frowning dark, so lamentably rude : 
And so the good survives — and some there be 
Thro' loneliness will suffer many a pang, 
And yet be joyful in their solitude ! 

16th June, 1902 

242 



THE NEW-BORN AGE 

Even as an eagle ploughs against the wind, 
And thro' the sullen clouds his tireless flight 
Undaunted urges, till the straining sight 

That tracks his course, unable falls behind; 

So springs into the vastness unconfin'd, 
Dim as the dawn and dreadful as the night, 
Her bosom throbbing with authentic light, 

The new-born age, the herald of mankind ! 

Broad be the pinions bearing her away; 
For ages past behold her as she flies, 

And dream, wing-folded, of the great undone. 
Flush, O ye deeps of Time ! from day to day, 
Till clear and calm the blessed hour arise 

When nations, link'd as brothers, shall be one ! 

18th Dec, 1900 



GREAT THOUGHTS AND DEEDS 

How high and holy in unsullied air 

The loftiest mountains lift their spotless brows, 

In silent worship tow'rd the Heavenly House 
Where dwells the Splendour none below can share ! 
Far flash the fiery lightnings, as they tear 

The folded glooms the sullen dark allows; 

And ev'n as tho' the dead they would arouse, 
In trumpet tones titanic thunders blare ! 

Such and so regal are the thoughts sublime, 
That sit serene above the clash of creeds, 
And view the Light triumphant : such the deeds 
That on the anvil of resounding Time, 
Like ponderous hammers, ring the deathless chime 
That man's eternal aspiration feeds ! 

15th Dec, 1903 

243 



FOUNTS UNFAILING 

When daily babble would my time entice, 
For certain dear unfailing founts I long, 
That rich yet mellow, sweet however strong, 

Refresh my thirsty spirit in a trice, 

To these I turn for comfort and advice, 

And ready refuge from the troublous throng, 
As to Cervantes' knight, or Milton's song, 

Great Homer's lay, or Chaucer quaint and nice. 

Gladly I quit the gossip of the town, 
The listed fashions, dull reports of gain, 
From Shakespeare's cup to quaff the cheeriest 
news; 

To sip the sparkling vintage of Montaigne, 
With Rome's imperial sage awhile to muse, 
Or take a draught of good Sir Thomas Browne ! 

6th Jan., 1906 

UNOBTRUSIVE THINGS 

The great, the mighty, and the measureless, 

Cloud-mantled mountain, thunderous waterfall, 
The boundless deep, the mossy trunk and tall, 

The giant fix'd in Egypt's wilderness, 

The sons of men whose glory is excess 
Of rude ambition, thirsting to be all, 
The storms that waste, the battles that appal — 

For these the many may some awe express. 

The mountain looms, the gems unnotic'd lie ! 
Yet on the small and unobtrusive things 

Sweet wisdom oft her thoughtful finger lays; 
As when the Ploughman of the daisy sings, 
The swinging lamp attracts the sage's eye, 
Or Wordsworth decks the sonnet with his 
praise ! 

21st Sept., 1905 

244 



WHEN SUMMER DIES 

When all the shining glory of the skies 

Is fading slowly into winter's grey; 

When woodland arches shed their rich array, 
And under foot what once o'ershadow'd lies: 
When air grows chill, and wandering Autumn 
sighs, 

And winds are surly that were wont to play; 

A cheerful spirit is the only way 
To keep the heart in tune, when Summer dies ! 

The golden glamour of the sunlit grass 

May still be thine; the song of silver streams 
Delight thee; and before thine inward eye 
Bright scenes of beauty in procession pass, 

To charm thy soul with such sweet-visaged 
dreams 
As shall assure thee hope can never die! 

8th Oct., 1905 

HAMLET 

Who shall the forces of our life define, 
Or bound the high world-warring energies 
That seek the healing of that fell disease 

Which fetters hope, and darkens thought's design? 

As the rich jewel buried in the mine 

Awaits the splendour of light's mysteries, 
Or treasure slumb'ring in the stormy seas, 

So yearns the human tow'rd the far divine. 

But by no happy chance nor labour 'd plan 
Doth wisdom reach in human soul its birth, 
Or mortal weakness find itself forgiven. 
In thee, O Hamlet, we discover man, 
The dream-confus'd, unsatisfied on earth, 
Nor yet a native of the air of heaven! 

7th April, 1907 

245 



WHEN RUIN FALLS 

When ruin falls on temple, tower or throne, 

Village or city, continent or sea, 

It may be but a bare calamity 
Wrought by the wind from some far desert blown 
But should the wreck its ruthless triumph own 

In human souls, that ever priceless be, 

How vast and awful is the mystery ! 
How looms the desolation all alone ! 

Man is Earth's treasure, for in him abide 

The things that beggar skill of tongue or pen, 
Be they of utterance veriest prodigals : 
Yet may he not be surfeited with pride, 
For his one hope is in his God, and when 
In Him he trusts no more — then ruin falls ! 

Hth July, 1905 



A JOYLESS AGE 

Men live no more as they were wont to do; 

The headlong race is now the only zest, 

And sweet persuasive manners are, at best, 
The unobtrusive habit of the few. 
We seek the splendid only, not the true; 

Till fortune's won we dream not to be blest, 

Yet won, our only quiet is unrest, 
We kill the very joy that we pursue ! 

A joy there is that folly never sought — 
To pace alone, by no mean passion bow'd, 
With musing foot among the woodland flowers ; 
The welcome guest of that enchanted thought, 
Which finds a refuge from the hurrying crowd 
In solitary glades and dreamful hours! 

30th May, 1905 

246 



SORROW AND SILENCE 

Sorrow comes weeping, and her heart is chill, 
Sere as the grasses that the hot winds parch, 
And all the blossoms that her way o'erarch, 

The sun that shines, no joy for her fulfil. 

So creeps the mournful dirge around the hill, 
The measure drooping like the drooping larch, 
And sad the pomp that crowns the funeral march, 

The muttering drum — the volley — and the still ! 

What, though immediate cheerful strains arise, 
Sorrow heeds not, and all their melody 

Melts like the empty smoke into the skies. 

They cease — and thought is throned in mystery, 
The soul from clamour of the sense is free, 

The grandeur deepens as the music dies ! 

3rd June, 1905 



COMPASSION 

My Lady Ruth is like a garden flower, 
So dainty, and so delicately made : 
See where she comes, in simple garb arrayed, 

Yet fresh and sunny as a morning shower. 

How bright the smiles that do her face embower! 
And as she passes thro' the light and shade. 
The sorrowing souls, that were but now afraid, 

Leap into gladness thro' her soothing power ! 

Her voice is kindly as the summer air, 

And music follows where her footsteps go; 
The very stones look up into her eye 
With adoration : she is sweet and fair, 
And oh ! so gentle, all the winds that blow 
Gaze on her, breathless, as she passes by ! 

&h Sept, 1905 

247 



MENTAL HOLIDAY 

How full of direful dole, of toil and stress, 

Are man's uncertain years in mortal state; 

What strife unending and what labour great, 
To find, to hew, to compass, to possess ! 
More steep the path his feet are prone to press, 

For restful ease he seemeth still too late; 

He barters joy a pleasaunce to create, 
And lo, his garden is a wilderness ! 

So, for one day, for one brief hour at least, 
Let him forget the reason that defines, 
The faults that ever need to be forgiven; 
And drown his cares in Fancy's flowery feast, 
In dulcet dreamings rich as Pramnian wines, 
And visions rosy with the light of heaven ! 

28th May; 1905 



THE BRAVE 

Who are the brave? The brave are they who meet 
With steadfast heart each changeful circum- 
stance; 
Who, calmly viewing all the wide expanse 

Of life, move onward crippled or complete; 

Who, murm'ring not, the bitter and the sweet 
Take as they come, with heaven-directed glance, 
Content to wait yet eager to advance : 

And these are victors even in defeat! 

But timorous souls are by themselves misled, 
A thousand terrors every thought enslave, 
At every step a young despair is born : 
They live like hunted quarry, breathing dread; 
Like leaves that shiver where the ivies wave, 
Or voices crying in a land forlorn ! 

2Jfii March, 1905 

248 



HIGH THOUGHTS AND HOLY 

High thoughts and holy from Elysian lands 
On Earth alight; but oft beyond his ken 
Unknown remain to this world's denizen, 

Till Hope beholds her anchor's parting strands, 

And Trouble comes with wildly-waving hands, 
And dull Despair emerges from her den — 
Then, 'mid the little schemes of little men, 

Who sees the high and holy, he commands ! 

Hast thou not mark'd, o'er valley, stream and mead, 
A mountain rise, so high it can not choose 
But wear upon its head a crown sublime? 
So stands serenely some majestic deed, 
Blazon'd in inextinguishable hues 
Amid the fading heraldries of Time ! 

10th Dec, 190k 



THE NERVELESS SOUL 

For him in vain the oak-trees barely bow 
Their lordly heads amid the storm's amaze, 
The nerveless soul — that keeps no count of days, 

And wears perchance a sage un wrinkled brow ! 

Never to him the mystic Fates allow 

What seem like glimpses of their secret ways; 
On Hope's clear face he never dares to gaze, 

Nor heavenward looks to register a vow. 

He nothing knows of those bright-armour'd bands 
That Duty summons to the aid of Grief, 
And Valour calls to drive away Despair: 
His deeds shall all drop lifeless from his hands, 
Or feebly struggle, like the falling leaf 

That floats and flutters thro' the wan, wide air. 

27th Jan., 1905 

249 



THE LARGER LOVE 

The love of one is well, but the great heart 

Goes out in love for all his fellowmen; 

Nor sits, as doth the spider, in a den 
Of selfish care; nor in a bower apart 
Stretches luxurious limbs; nor knows the art 

To deem himself the world's chief denizen; 

But looks with kind and ever- widening ken 
On all the toilers in life's weary mart. 

So is he free, whatever he may do 

Or leave undone — free from the fell despair 
That like a wintry ocean, chill and rude, 
Rolls its deep waters of funereal hue, 

O'er all that pleas'd, o'er all that promis'd fair, 
And makes at last a joyless solitude. 

8th Oct., 1901 



THE KEY TO SOLITUDE 

Men know not, when they seek for solitude, 
How hard it is within its pale to find 
An hour's isolation from their kind; 

For on the hermit soul the thoughts intrude 

Of busy men, the evil and the good, 

And faces rise like spectres on the wind, 
Processions march, and voices from behind 

Speak words unwelcome, whether sweet or rude. 

Shrine within shrine lies hidden, and at times 
E'en favour'd sons of Meditation try 
In vain to enter; for within this zone 
The touch of self -abstraction that sublimes 

Gives sole admittance — hence they wait and sigh, 
And yearn in solitude to be alone ! 

21st Nov., 1901 

250 



HAND IN HAND 

When in the primal sunlight Adam stood 

Lord of the world, with but one need denied, 
He found no joy in solitary pride, 

Nor perfect bliss in Being pure and good : 

For some companionship of flesh and blood, 
Some creature nearer to himself allied, 
He yearn'd, he watch'd, and ever inly sigh'd, 

Yet knew he nought of noble womanhood. 

But when before his waking eyes there came 
The gracious vision of the one he sought, 

There stirr'd within him harmonies unknown. 
So, hand in hand, thro' glory and thro' shame, 
Through all the toil of energy and thought, 
The march of man has never been alone ! 

13th March, 1907 



ASSURED 

My time will come, I know not when nor how, 
But it will come ! I have not scorn'd to wait, 
Nor suffer'd aught my purpose to abate, 

Nor bribed my heart at fortune's feet to bow: 

Favours I have not ask'd, nor ask them now, 
Nor basely suing fawn'd upon the great; 
I make no boast, I claim no high estate, 

But rest content with what the gods allow. 

Yet come it will ! As surely as the sun 
With golden eye upon the world looks out, 
And marshals all the ministers of day, 
The thing shall stand that has been truly won, 
And shine, when all obscurity and doubt 
And disputation shall have pass'd away. 

13th Dec, 1901 

251 



THE CHEERFUL SOUL 

In those gay moments to the young so sweet, 
Whose passing show so full of bliss they deem, 
From every side the hurrying Pleasures stream 

To make the joy an ecstacy complete. 

What dulcet strains caressing tones repeat ! 

What lights that flatter with subservient beam ! 
The vestures blending like a woven dream, 

The timbrels ringing, and the glimmering feet! 

Yet these are things the hand of Time will soil, 
Old Time, who forges arguments for Truth, 
And softly smiles on Folly's fair array; 
But one dear joy there is he can not spoil, 
The thought romantic, not of callow youth, 
But souls mature that sing upon their way ! 

25th Sept., 1902 



THE GUIDES 

Thinkers and dreamers there must ever be, 
Or man would falter as he climbs the heights, 
For lack of inspiration. There are lights 

That busy workers ever fail to see, 

Gleaming and flashing in their mystery, 

And whirling by in swift bewildering flights, 
Floating and winding thro' the days and nights 

That weave the web of this world's history. 

Scorn not the guides, light-footed pioneers, 

That blaze the way, and in each darken'd room 
Of nature's house, by science led, intrude; 
Nor those blest souls that sing along the years, 
And pierce into the essence, and illume 
The shapes and shadows of infinitude. 

10th Jan., 1902 

252 



MORNING 

Down the hill-side how jubilant she flies, 
The airy Morning, tripping like a maid 
To meet her lover! Nought that makes afraid 

Can find reflection in her gladful eyes : 

She is, like Childhood, innocently wise, 
And to her happy spirit, unbetray'd, 
How close the sunbeam, and how far the shade ! 

How kindly bright the bending of the skies ! 

O that for ever on our mortal way 

She could be near us, and in troublous hours 
Vouchsafe the inspiration of her face : 
So might we keep the heart-leap of the day 
In many a mental night that now o'erpowers, 
And shun the path of sorrow or disgrace. 

17th Jan., 1902 



THE CHRYSALIS 

Yon winged creature was a chrysalis, 
Pent up and folded in a dreamless cage, 
A thing that felt no pleasure and no rage, 

But hung suspended over life's abyss. 

Now, how it gambols, following that or this, 
Existence but a joyous pilgrimage 
Above the spot where bees their honey gauge, 

And o'er the waters that the sunbeams kiss ! 

So, wrapt in sloth a spirit seeming dead 
May swiftly wake, and in a moment gain 
Sense of the vast that all around it lies; 
As when at night above the sleeper's head 

The lightnings flash, and roaring in their train 
Sonorous thunders bellow thro' the skies ! 

18th Feb., 1902 

253 



SIMPLE JOYS 

There are diviner things beneath the sun 
Than place and reputation : let us look 
With clear and child-like eye in Nature's book, 

And learn the path by which our feet should run; 

How we should follow what is well begun 
To its true ending, cheerful as the brook, 
Nought that is noble for the base forsook, 

And sleep unsullied when our day is done. 

Much counted needful is supremely vain; 
let not then the world thine all engross, 
Life's simple joys should be thy bower of ease; 
And ever free from spot of selfish gain 

The tender ties that bind the heart so close 
To home, and love's endearing ministries. 

19th March, 1902 



THE UNIVERSAL MAN 

How full of incompleteness is mankind, 
Through one Man only to be counted great, 
And He beyond all human estimate, 

Perfect in all, in body, spirit, mind! 

Without Him life is dark; the wandering wind 
A highway by comparison; all state 
A childish mockery, a thing elate 

With fancied sight, yet unaware how blind ! 

But gather'd up into one spotless Soul, 

How grand the place the little may attain ! 
How weakness triumphs in uplifting power, 
Patience and hope, and heaven-born self-control, 
The calm of thought, the mastery of pain, 
And doubt o'ertrampled in affliction's hour! 

Hth June, 1902 

254 



"WHAT A MAN CAN" 

Plato 

Do what thou canst; yet howsoever earnest 
Still let thy soul sit calmly, like a star 
That shines indeed on earth, yet dwells afar : 

Be still serene which way soe'er thou turnest, 

For heaven is nearer thee than thou discernest, 
And peace more sweet than gilded trophies are; 
And joy that nothing from below can mar 

Is that full joy for which at best thou y earnest. 

That which, if good, thou canst with pleasure do, 
That is thy best. Then toil not to be first 
In that which, won, shall be to thee but worst, 

And nothing yield to solace or renew. 

Who casts his good behind him is accurst, 

Who works with joy is happy, wise and true ! 

3rd August, 1906 

THE POETS 

The poets are the world's interpreters, 

They look thro' darkness to the light beyond, 
And range unhamper'd by the carnal bond 

Of base-brow'd cynics and dull murmurers. 

They boldly seek whatever Hope avers, 
And bright creations to their thoughts respond; 
Tho' deem'd by some fantastically fond, 

'Tis truth itself that in their bosom stirs ! 

They see the blossom buried in the brake, 
The joy light hidden in the mist of tears; 

For labour's brow a diadem they make, 

And crown with beauty all the darkling years, 

And keep the soul of sorrowing man awake 
To all the larger music of the spheres ! 

18th May, 1906 

%55 



TWO FRIENDS 

Two friends have I that ever kindly be, 

Whom, on my journey thro' this earthly land, 
I fain would ever walk with, hand in hand — 

Sweet Poesy and fair Philosophy. 

Twin sisters they : this one a summer sea, 
Calm, as asleep beside its fringe of sand; 
And that, a sky unutterably grand, 

And all-inclusive in its majesty. 

With awful, reverent love I dare to wait 
Upon their coming, for they will not pass 
Without a smile the daisy in the grass, 

Though full in view may loom an empire's fate. 
Two friends have I, and better no man has, 

So true and wise, so tender and so great ! 

3rd Feb., 188^ 



A CONSOLING THOUGHT 

To sing an idle song and waste a day. 

Is this alone hope's long-expected flower? 

Is this the heart's reward, the poet's dower, 
While the sad years drop wearily away? 
The lonely Silence weeps to hear him play 

His sweetest music, dash'd like silver shower 

Down on the barren sands, while hour by hour 
Time rusts the golden moments with decay! 

What if, with heart aglow, he seem to be 

Upon the thoughtless air his soul expending, 

Is he not like God's winds and His great sea, 
To his vocation manfully attending; 
Heard or unheard, his voice obedient blending 

With the divine, eternal harmony? 

27th Jan., 188k 

256 



THE HEEDLESS LIFE 

Of all so sweetly sung, so wisely said, 
How little lives within our daily eye ! 
We tread the precincts of philosophy 

With dainty feet, as though we would be led 

By easy paths to Wisdom's mountain-head; 
We gather maxims with a delicate sigh, 
But, like pluckt flowers, in our hands they die, 

And all their beauty and their bloom is fled ! 

O that we might be learners in the sphere 
Of natural love; disciples of the true; 

Obedient workers, less by rule severe 
Than by conviction; eager how to do 

What may abide; and thus from year to year 
Unfold the ancient, and upbuild the new! 

22nd July, 188k 



THE EARTHEN BOWL 

A trav'ler, faring tow'rd a distant goal, 
A crystal spring discover'd at his feet, 
And, all foredone amid the burning heat, 

Sipp'd from his hand the pure but scanty dole. 

From earthen cup another thirsty soul 

Drank, went, and left his vessel. To complete 
His draught the trav'ler sped — but water sweet 

From his own hand was bitter from the bowl ! 

Much wond'ring whence this bitterness proceeded, 

He heard a voice behind him in the air, 

Which said, "Believe this is no mystery: 

" The clay from which this very bowl was kneaded 

"Erewhile was Man — and so must ever share 

"The bitter flavour of mortality!" 

2nd April, 1909 

257 



GENIUS 

Some souls there be that can not live in vain : 
From out the crowding millions they emerge 
Sudden as coral island from the surge, 

In the dark nurtur'd as the gods ordain. 

They dare to soar; the height decreed they gain, 
And none their course can either stay or urge; 
They move amidst the paean or the dirge 

By joy unhinder'd, undeterr'd by pain ! 

But who may guess, or guessing can define 

The deep despairs, the inward storms that shake 

The impulse yearning tow'rd the clear design? 
They live not for their own but others' sake, 
And kindly hearts a plea will ever make 

For mission so indelibly divine! 

9th Nov., 1908 



A GRACIOUS LADY 

I saw her stepping down the busy street, 
With mien so seemly that the passer-by 
Turn'd, as he went, with a delighted eye, 

So rare a picture eager to repeat. 

The very stones beneath her gentle feet 
Broke into music, soft as lover's sigh; 
And all who look'd upon her, low or high, 

Seem'd wholly bent to do her reverence meet. 

She was not deck'd as those who court the crowd, 
Her simple vesture no observance drew, 
Though sweet, she was not eminently fair: 
And yet I saw that every heart was bow'd 
In silent homage — every passer knew 
The charm of gracious womanhood was there ! 

6th Dec, 1908 

258 



WOMAN 

O Woman ! first in all good men's esteem, 

The love we owe thee thou should'st ne'er abate 
By coldness, harshness, unconsider'd state, 

Marring the golden framework of the dream 

That still would keep thee all that thou dost seem ! 
Be what thou seemest, and thou shalt be great 
In that regard which is thy proper fate, 

In that devotion none will call extreme. 

Think not to conquer by a front severe, 
And say thou nothing with unloving lips, 
Better be silent as a harp unstrung. 
If thou to man would'st beautiful appear, 
Thou must be gracious to thy finger-tips, 
And music only tremble on thy tongue ! 

17th Oct., 1905 



A PATH OF FLOWERS 

How pure and fine the fragrance they exhale, 
The flowers of Thought that by the wayside grow, 
Richer than holly and the mistletoe, 

Sweeter than rose or lily of the vale. 

What radiant beauty on the pathway pale 

Of grief they shed ! What heavenly calm bestow ! 
And as around the balmy blossoms blow, 

Hope spreads her pinions wide upon the gale. 

So bloom the flowers of Thought ! Yet all unseen 
They wave and smile for many a passer-by, 
Who plods his course with earth-enshrouded eye. 

So fair they are, so gracious, so serene, 

For those who know them not we can but sigh, 

And love on whom their magic touch hath been ! 

28th Nov., 1905 

259 



PEERLESS 

How peerless is the Sonnet ! At its best 
It is the Voice of Beauty, gathering all 
That breathes of melody in field or hall, 

Clear as the brook, yet stately as the West 

In burnish'd hues and crimson glory drest : 
But when it hears some mighty master's call, 
It rolls in triumph like the waterfall, 

And bears the sunshine broad upon its breast ! 

This Voice, it has a music all its own, 
And like a stream unto itself it sings, 
If none will listen as it glides away; 
Full sweet it flows in love's familiar tone, 
But strains it has that touch sublimer things, 
Thought, knowledge, power, and eternal Day ! 

Mh Dec, 1904 



AT LAST 

Full many are the radiant Days that rise 

Dream-girdled, beck'ning joy with waving hands, 
Still singing welcome into fairy lands, 

With glances of bright promise in their eyes. 

They come with bugle-notes of high emprise, 
Heroic bursting of enslaving bands ; 
They point the summit where Completion stands, 

And glad Success smiles back on agonies ! 

And yet, because the visions fade, and still 
We plod the sombre pathway of our cares, 
Shall we proclaim them worthless, and con- 
temn? 
At last the traveller climbs the weary hill, 
At last the tree its ruddy fruitage bears, 

And the rough diamond sparkles in the gem ! 

28th Nov., 18U 

260 



ONWARD 

Awake, O heart ! the world is on the wing, 
And o'er the valley of its own despair 
Flies ever onward tow'rd the clearer air, 

Touch'd with the dawnlight of a holier Spring. 

The one true value of remembering 
The promise and the proof of things that were, 
Is to put spurs into the sides of Care, 

And summon all Hope's splendid following. 

Before us lies the better and the best, 

Let the worse crumble on the trodden road 
In all the dark oblivion of decay : 
We travel tow'rd the regions of the blest, 

And march beneath the great right hand of God, 
Thro' toil and struggle learning to obey. 

1st Dec, 1895 



PROMETHEUS 

With arms outstretch'd unto the gods I cry: 
Yield me the meaning of this mortal frame, 
A larger knowledge, that my soul may name 

These thickly-crowding visions — or I die ! 

Why should I sit upon this rock, and sigh 
For wider prospect and a clearer aim? 
And why submit to this compelling shame, 

And walk a slave, with clod-beholding eye? 

I feel within me an immortal power, 

Beyond this petty world, its loves and hates, 
And once again I lift my earnest prayer: 
But if unheard in this propitious hour, 
I vow to enter the Celestial gates, 
And heavenly fire from the altar tear! 

9th Dec, 1908 

261 



THE OPTIMIST 

All things are good and gracious ! So he saith. 
And so he deems, who with a cheerful eye 
And ready smile looks up into the sky, 

And draws a new-born hope with every breath. 

For him the greenwood alway murmureth 
A happy song, and if he chance to sigh 
'Tis but a feathery cloudlet stealing by; 

And life to him is ever lord of death! 

His view is telescopic, bringing near 

The distant goal; and, gilding every glance, 
Sweeps the wide field with sympathetic ken : 
Sounds mingle in one music to his ear, 

And lights and shadows to his vision dance 
Like fairy guardians round the haunts of men ! 

Hth Oct, 1895 



JUST BEYOND 

How much we apprehend that is not ours, 
And never can be ! We may touch the hem, 
But the dream passes, robe and diadem, 

And fades into the day like April showers. 

The blossom brightens, but the fruitage sours 
If we but reach to pluck it from the stem; 
So hung the golden apples, and like them 

The task is harder than to gather flowers. 

Some things there be no words can truly tell, 
Nor even fancy's daintiest touch renew, 
So sweet they are and of so fine a grace; 
Such is the tint upon the polish'd shell, 

The blushing cloud, the drop of crystal dew, 
The tender light upon a woman's face ! 

21st Jan., 1900 

262 



THE SUMMER WIND 

On what a dainty wing thou passest by, 

Summer wind, so present yet unseen ! 
Thou kissest now the fragrant eglantine, 

And now abroad amongst the clouds dost fly. 
Now here, now there thou art — O tell me why 
Thou weariest not so many flights between? 

1 would I were as happy and serene 

As thou, sweet truant of the earth and sky ! 

Yet such a soothing ministry is his, 

Who keeps his heart amidst the thousand ills 
That tempt unstable spirits to their doom : 
A song of peace his constant comrade is, 
Bright as the sunrise o'er the eastern hills, 
And joyful as a maiden in her bloom ! 

6th Oct., 1905 



NATURE'S SCHOOL 

There is who knows not what it is to be 
A happy roamer o'er the breezy heath, 
The fresh green sod his joyous feet beneath, 

The boundless sky his regal canopy. 

To him what Nature giveth man to see 
Is dark as sunlight to the sword in sheath; 
No song of heavenly lark, no rosy wreath 

For him exists, nor note of mystery. 

But Nature's child is wiser than he knows : 
For apter he true estimate to gain 

Who, self -surrender 'd, inspiration finds 
In starry spaces, flowers that wake and close, 
The pomp of suns, the long involv'd refrain 
Of rolling waters, or the rushing winds. 

1st May, 1909 



ANOTHER WORLD 

Dream-floating, like a cloud above the lea, 
A star I trod — and, every sense awake, 
From one I met would learn, without mistake, 

What of his world he knew with certainty. 

He paused and smiled, and as he gazed on me 
With eyes as lucid as a mountain lake, 
I seem'd to hear, as he response to make, 

'I can not tell; its name is Mystery!' 

And if some star-born traveller should reach 
This earth, and seek like knowledge to attain, 
Intent to sound the wherefore and the why; 
Asking with gaze so eloquent, that speech 

Were needless such clear question to explain — 
Could I to him more truthfully reply? 

13th May, 1909 



INTROSPECTION 

We dare not look into the deepest deep 
Of our own selves with too intense a gaze, 
Lest we inherit madness. All the ways 

Of mortal use hold in their heart asleep 

A desperate fiend, that if aroused may leap 
In fury forth, and strike us with amaze, 
And shatter all the glory of the days 

That in unconscious calm could sow and reap. 

Let us not grovel downwards, but uplift 

The restless soul, and from the starry heights 
Obtain the inspiration that we need : 
So shall our life be like a golden gift, 

That gleams and flashes in surrounding lights, 
And guides us onward to a nobler meed. 

5th Oct., 1895 

264 



APRIL 

wavering Maid ! who never canst attune 

Thy heart to concord through the changeful hours, 

What purpose hast thou in thy sun and showers, 
Thy tear-bright morn or weeping afternoon? 
With slow advances, like the waxing moon, 

Thou strollest on through thy still-budding 
bowers, 

Till shining lies, beyond the sweet May flowers, 
The ripe, the golden luxury of June ! 

1 hold it, then, to be a happy plan, 

Which thus the pilgrim of the year invites 
To tread so gradual yet so fair a way: 
And deem it well that hope-encircled man 
Should walk amid the shadows and the lights, 
And wait expectant for the perfect day! 

9th April, 1909 



THE SONGS OF LIFE 

Out of the discord, shaken into tune, 

Sway'd by some hidden power's strange device, 
The songs of life, like strains of Paradise, 

Come floating round us like an hour in June : 

And we, whose sun had dwindled to a moon, 
Soar to the happy highlands in a trice, 
Nor pause to ask if we have paid the price, 

And justly won so exquisite a boon ! 

O wise unwisdom ! putting care aside 

With sudden waving of triumphant hands, 
The god in human misery conf est ! 
The hope in human hearts that ne'er has died ! 
The joy that bursts its cold restraining bands ! 
The love that will have nothing but the best ! 

5th Nov., 1895 

265 



THE OUTER DEEP 

How rude the tide that beats about the bay, 
The bay of human thought, at ebb and flow ! 
So, even to my friend I do not show 

All my heart's secrets, lest he turn away 

Half dazed, half sicken'd at the disarray, 

The storm, the stress, the weaving to and fro 
Of dreams encaged in their own overthrow; 

The flash, the silence, and the dim dismay ! 

Outside, the mighty ocean I shall sail 
One day not far remote, majestic lies; 

What clime upon its bosom shall prevail 
I know not yet, nor even can surmise; 
But still I trust there shall be lovelier skies, 

And summer seas unruffled by a gale ! 

17th Nov., 1908 



THE EYE OF THOUGHT 

As when some lone night-trav'ler, mile by mile 
Seeing no brightness on the ground below, 
Lifts up his eyes, and by the starry glow 

That meets his gaze is gladden'd for a while : 

Or as when faring through some rude defile, 
In raven blackness painfully and slow, 
The fire-wing'd lightnings o'er the landscape 
throw 

An instant but illimitable smile : 

So Thought some splendour finds amid the gloom 
Of earth's profoundest travail and dismay; 

Being clear of eye, nor daring to assume 
To know the secret of the larger Day, 

Though flashes from the infinite illume 

The mists that gather round our mortal way. 

15th May, 1905 



CONSOLATION 

Wouldst thou unto some tortur'd soul apply 
The balm of consolation? Then be sure 
Thou hast it by thee, ere thou seek to cure 

A heart so wounded that it yearns to die. 

How canst thou know the wherefore and the why? 
What dost thou bring, the mourner to allure? 
Thou art, perchance, the wind upon the moor, 

That moans and mutters as it passes by ! 

There may be voices soft as summer gales, 
Caresses dear and sympathetic sighs, 
Yet all are noted with a gentle scorn : 
When kindest man with all his kindness fails, 
The soul that draws its being from the skies 
Must turn to Heaven, or remain forlorn ! 

3rd Jan., 1904 



TO 

O why should Love with Grief, untimely met, 
Pace through the dream of all that charms so 

well? 
'Tis not in human destiny to spell 
The mystic symbols of our deep regret; 
Yet, if no heart were sad, no eye were wet 

(So strange the circle in whose midst we dwell), 
Few scenes, perchance, of gladness could we tell, 
For light that follows darkness most doth let 
Sweet pleasure in. My heart hath many times 
Been stung with arrows, when it sought to bask 
In dear enchantment's love-renewing task; 
And I have left thee sorrowful, when hope 
Had promis'd bright fulfilment all her scope, 
With tuneful words like some old poet's rhymes ! 

1866 

267 



THE SYLVAN LAKE 

The sunbeams glisten, and the ripples make 
A measur'd music all along the strand, 
As though attun'd to pulses of a Hand 

Within whose hollow lies this little lake. 

Around its shores the willows bend, and shake 
Their pendulous branches; and behind the land 
That lips the sandy margin, silent stand 

The hills that Morning's earliest welcome take. 

In such a spot how natural the bliss 

Of happy thoughts, that like a wreath of flowers 
Sweetly and freshly on our forehead fall : 
Can we not carry from a scene like this 

Some tranquil joy to soothe untranquil hours, 
And touch with light the shadows that appal? 

15th Feb., 1909 



LAMENTATION 

Of all the wasteful follies of mankind 

None is so vain as mourning for the past : 
Such grief insures a future overcast, 

And softens every sinew of the mind. 

It is inconstant as the changeful wind; 
Its hands too feeble ever to hold fast; 
It faints and dies like music on the blast, 

Though fair the thought and sweet the speech re- 
fin'd. 

Such souls of life's great battle are afraid; 

All cheerful thoughts and motions they forestall, 
Like ceaseless sigh of sunless waterfall, 

Or wounded creature dying in the glade, 
Or funeral dirge, or doleful madrigal 

Sung to a viol moaning in the shade ! 

18th April, 1908 



ABSENT FRIENDS 

Though many come and go, the few remain; 

Absent, they still are with us, for Love's hand 

A mirror holds, in which at his command 
The absent dear their dearest grace regain. 
Sad it would be could we no loves retain 

But such as daily in our presence stand; 

Then were we shut within a dreary land 
Of dismal doubt and never-ceasing pain. 

Thank God ! both sunny day and gloomy night 
Are powerless rivals; times and seasons fail, 
And joys and griefs, and life's distracting hours ; 
The picture lives and shines with inward light, 
The tender voice outsings the angriest gale, 
And loneliest paths are garlanded with flowers ! 

1st Sept, 1899 



THE LISTENER 

Some sounds delight us, some may waken fear, 
But all one stern condition must fulfil : 
Ev'n as the oak, uprooted from the hill, 

Falls soundless when no auditor is near ! 

So with that music, which from sphere to sphere 
Wafts every tone that can divinely thrill — 
It dies not; yet, unutterably still, 

It sings for none who hath not ears to hear ! 

So needful is the listener ! But the gain 

Is with the sense that grasps the thing untold, 
Perchance unto the singer's self unknown. 
Blest is the soul that through the utter'd strain 
Can catch the hidden music, and enfold 
In feeling thought the mystic undertone ! 

30th Jan., 1909 



THE AVIATOR 

Of all that breathe the boldest traveller, 

The earth beneath thee and the heaven around, 
Thy path is utter stillness, save the sound 

That tunes thy progress with its throb and whir. 

What thoughts are they that in thy bosom stir, 
As, thus uplifted, thro' the wide profound 
Thy course thou cleavest, spurner of the ground, 

Where man so long has been a sojourner? 

O wingless creature with the power of wings, 
Canst thou thus soar, and yet remain unstirr'd 
By dreams that to the infinite extend? 
Thus lightly poised between celestial things 
And things terrestrial, art thou man or bird, 
Spirit or flesh? And what shall be the end? 

18th June, 1910 



SUNSET 

The regal Sunset blushes while it fades, 
As half ashamed before the Night to flee 
Who, slowly pacing, cometh dreamily 

In garments woven of primeval shades. 

The leaning glooms along the grassy blades 
Her carpet spread, and like the twilight sea 
More awful grow in their immensity, 

Till smiles the Dawn above the slumb'ring glades ! 

So melts for Joy the magic of her hour, 
It hath its slow declension and eclipse; 
The sparkling draught is ravish'd from the lips, 

And on the pathway falls the broken flower: 
Yet thro' the gath'ring shadows ever trips 

Sweet Hope, whose light no darkness can devour! 

1st Sept., 1910 

270 



HUMAN WISDOM 

The wise are humble : whatsoe'er they be, 

Physician, poet, scientist or sage, 

They know their limits, and they turn the page 
Expectant still in God's immensity. 
If Fame shall blow her trumpet, and decree 

That they shall stand in forefront of the age, 

They can but smile, unworthy of the wage, 
As yet unearn'd as they believe and see ! 

And so, when all is said, it matters not : 
The wisest man is but a little child 
Who prattles of the mysteries around; 
The farthest reach and amplitude of thought 
Leaves us bewilder'd travellers in the wild, 
Or lost in deeps unf athom'd and profound ! 

21st Feb., 1909 



271 



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